softly, quietly (it hurts so much)
by Of Healing Love
Summary: Kidnapped, raped, tortured - loved - by Shigaraki Tomura, your only escape seems to be death, whether or not you get away from him. But when two heroes catch you before you fall, things take a turn for the better. A story of healing.
1. prologue: a dark beginning

_Hi everyone!_

 _So I've been taken by the BNHA whirlwind and had to start this little thing. I'm stuck on my other WIPs and thought I might as well be writing SOMETHING._

 _This is a prologue and has a little bit of a different vibe from the rest of the story. SQ starts off pretty dark, with one-sided Tomura/OC, eventually turning into a hurt/comfort romance with Toshinori/OC/Shouta. Shigaraki will continue to play a large part of the story even during the romance, so don't forget about him!_

 _This also has a few fix-it features, because the manga/anime isn't nearly far enough along to predict any kind of ending, so I'll be creating one myself. I have no idea how long this is going to be, but probably no more than 50-60k words. I DO have other stories to work on. Still, I'm really inspired for this one and plan to make it my main focus until inspiration for my other stories comes along._

 _I know the summary is vague, but it's all explained in this prologue. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this story, and don't forget to follow, fave, and review if you like it!_

 _Reviews are love. 3_

 _P.S. Trigger warnings apply to this chapter. Please be careful if you don't like graphic dark content._

* * *

I know too much about this world.

I know to avoid U.A. I know to never wander into the Kamino Ward unless it's unavoidable, and even then, I know never to walk down the street with the Mahjong bar front. I know to keep a low profile. I know to pretend I'm quirkless. I know that I can only spar with Kato-sensei, and only he can teach me the offensive skills I need to defend myself. I can never express myself with physical force. I can't let anyone too close, can't have any friends; how do I know if they're real or not?

This world is one I know as fictional: Boku no Hero Academia. People have quirks here, becoming a superhero is now considered an optimal career, and the abnormal is now accepted as normal.

I come from a place where heroism is in the little things: giving a homeless person a meal, coming to others' defense against prejudice, even just a kind word to make someone smile. People still fight, still hurt, still kill, because that's how humans are.

I've found that the greater the good, the worse the bad.

Here, villains—and yes, they are literally called villains—can raze a whole city if a hero of equal or greater power doesn't come along to save the day. Rescue missions are more successful, but more people die in outright attacks.

The people here idolize heroes like All Might and Endeavor, but I'm not sure if any more lives are saved in the long run than in my world.

Am I making it sound like I don't like this world very much? That's good. I don't.

Sure, I can speak the language, fit in like I need to because my appearance had changed when I ended up here, even magically have the papers and ID I need to be considered a citizen. I had adopted a new name. And I'm relatively unaffected by what happens in this world, because I heal so quickly I am incapable of dying. It means I have a monstrous appetite—can't heal with nothing to fuel it—but other than starvation, nothing can kill me.

It means that I don't have to worry about physical injury. It means that I can pass as an ordinary civilian, keep my head down, and let events play out as they're supposed to. Before I ended up here, I had just finished a few volumes ahead of the anime and discovered the manga was very far ahead, but I have no intention of interfering. Let it play out; it's a shounen manga world. Izuku will, eventually, save the day, become the new Symbol of Peace, and all will be well.

And I'll still be working at the vintage game shop two blocks from my apartment in Musutafu. It's not the ideal place to be for avoiding the incidents that are to come, but it's also the cheapest area where I can find decent housing with enough space to make me feel vaguely at home. Where I had lived before, I could afford a 2300 square foot house. Now, I have to make do with about six hundred, and even though I obviously don't have as much furniture as I had before, it's still cramped compared to what I'm used to.

I like my space. I'm used to wide open places, sprawling roads and the necessity of a car. The trains are cramped and make me uncomfortable; all those people closely packed together cause near-claustrophobia. Japan is not my ideal country, small and overpopulated and way too many quirks to be comfortable with.

But work, funnily enough, is something I enjoy. Yeah, it's retail, but the polite culture of Japan eliminates rude customers for the most part, even if my place in the retail industry is even more subservient than in America. It's fine; I'll trade rude customers for a humble attitude any day.

And that's where I'm headed today: Furui Gēmu. Literally translated: Old Games. Not the most imaginative title, but it's also the most accurate.

I walk into the shop with my uniform already on and, with a wave to my boss, immediately start taking inventory. With the games as rare as they are, it's important that we always know what's in stock to avoid unhappy customers. There are also a few orders that we have to fill, but Awakasa usually delivers those. When I can, I prefer to stay inside the shop. Less danger that way, and there's no hiding my quirk if I get seriously injured.

"We sold the last original Mortal Kombat," I inform Daichi, our resident games expert. "Should I put out an ad for more?"

Daichi glances at me from where he's typing on the only computer we have, an old thing that's still running like a champ. It won't last forever, but it's still got a few years left in it.

"Probably a good idea," he replies in his soft voice. His quirk involves technology, though I'm not sure about the exact details. All I know is that he's our IT, game and console tester, and basically runs any device that keeps the store going. I have a suspicion that he's why we've never had to replace the computer. "I'll set up one for eBay and get you the ad. We can set it up for a deal."

"Yeah," I reply. "Last Saturday we still had seven in stock. Seems to be popular these days."

At that moment, our boss walks in. Takamura-san is the owner of the shop, a slightly overweight man with a balding head that he makes no effort to hide. He's happily married with two children and doing well for himself, and while he's usually easygoing and chill, when he gets mad, he gets _mad_.

"Zen," he says, and I turn my head. "Awakasa's out with the flu. I'll need you to do deliveries today—I can run the shop while you're out."

I've done deliveries before, and they're my least favorite part of the job, but Takamura-san's word is law. I nod my head, plastering a smile on my face before I head over to check the list of packages. "Of course," I reply. "Do we have many?"

"Just a few," he replies. "Mondays are slow. But we have a customer who ordered a camouflage blue NeoGeo Pocket with Mega Man Battle & Fighters. He's a regular, so I want it done first."

I've learned a good deal about video games, not only from working at Old Games but from my past life. The NeoGeo Pocket in question is one of the hardest models to get, and while I don't know much about the Mega Man series due to lack of interest, I know that the vintage ones don't go for cheap.

"Sure thing, boss," I say.

"Good," Takamura-san says severely. "Get going now, before we get busy. The name's Shimu Ten. Hand-delivered and signature."

That's our highest protocal, and only used on extremely coveted games and consoles. Curious about this Shimu Ten's package, I go to the back to survey my load. His package is pretty small, easily fitting into my cupped hands. Checking the address, I notice it's in the Kamino Ward. It's early, though, and I don't think I have to worry about any villainous behavior. The biggest threat there wouldn't be acting out right now—I hadn't heard a word about the USJ incident (yet).

Not my problem.

Putting the rest of the deliveries in the official delivery bag, I put on my jacket for the brisk morning breeze and head out to the Kamino Ward. As harmless as I'm sure this is, I still feel my stomach twist in trepidation.

I stare in shock at the Mahjong Bar that the address on Shimu Ten's package has led me to. I double check, triple check the GPS on my cellphone. It says the same thing every time, but I had been desperately hoping to avoid this.

Shimu Ten. Obviously a fake name for Shimura Tenko. It's clever to use a dead man's name, but I wish I would have made the connection earlier. I'm not prepared for this at all. And I have to hand-deliver and get a signature.

Maybe Kurogiri will answer the door. He can't really hurt me. Shigaraki, though… well, I can't die, but that doesn't mean being injured doesn't hurt like hell.

I shake my head to snap out of it. It's not like either of them have any reason to hurt me in the first place. I'm delivering something important to him: he's a gamer, going so far as to delude himself about the nature of reality.

Do I have to get Shigaraki's signature? Or can someone else sign for him? Despite my position as an innocent delivery girl, I don't like this at all. I don't like anyone from the plot to see my face. I don't want to be recognized by any of them for any reason, even if it's someone like All Might.

Steadying my breath and putting on my best customer service face, I step up to the door and knock.

For a few long minutes, there's nothing. Maybe no one's home? Or everyone's asleep. Certainly I can't just leave the package at the door, but if they don't answer, it can be delivered another time when Awakasa is feeling better.

I knock one more time for posterity, just so I can truthfully say I tried. Takamura-san won't blame me if no one answers. I'm only following protocol.

And then I hear sluggish footsteps. My heart flies to my throat and I swallow nervously, clenching my hands to still their shaking. I put on a smile, fake as it is, and wait for the door to open.

It does, too soon. Heart pounding in my throat, it creaks open and a single red eye peers out.

"Delivery for Shimura—Shimu Ten." I stumble across the words in my fear and hope that he doesn't notice the slip. He seems awfully groggy—maybe he stayed out late villaining? Or played video games into the early morning.

"Where's Awakasa?" is the first thing he says. His voice is gravelly with sleep. Good, he missed the slip.

"He's out with the flu today," I tell him apologetically. I'm sorrier for myself than him. "Don't worry, he should be back at work in no time!" Cheerful. Stay cheerful. It hides the fear.

Shigaraki grunts. "Are you going to deliver the package or what?"

In my distraction, I had totally forgotten to take the package out of the bag. "I apologize for my unprofessionalism, sir," I say hurriedly, snatching up the package. Double-checking that it's the right one, I pull out the signature pad and hand it to him.

"Why do I have to sign?" he asks, starting to sound irritated when I don't immediately give him what he wants.

"For high-cost deliveries, a signature is required prior to delivery," I tell him, pushing my fear away to be the delivery woman that I am. "I apologize for the inconvenience."

I'm laying it on thick. Better to please him than offend him.

With a dry hand, he reaches for the attached pen, carefully not touching it with his pinky. He signs an illegible scribble, but it's enough. Ready for the interaction to be over with, I hand him the package. Again, he takes it with only three fingers and his thumb.

"I hope you enjoy your purchase!" I say. "Have a good day!"

I turn to leave, happy that it went so smoothly, before Shigaraki calls out, "What's your name, delivery girl?"

My first impulse is to lie. I'll never see him again. "Kanasatsu Hikari." It rolls off my tongue naturally.

He narrows his eyes keenly at me, and for a second I wonder if he has an unknown quirk that helps him detect lies. Then his eyes appraise me up and down. I can't tell the reason for it, but I'm more than ready to leave.

"Have a good day, Shimu-san," I call, and hop onto my scooter to get as far away from him as possible.

* * *

Tomura's not sure why this Kanasatsu Hikari has piqued his interest. Maybe it's the fear he could see hidden behind her falsely cheerful expression. He's never seen her face before, and there's no way she knows anything about him or his quirk. It could be because she was nervous to be out doing deliveries in the Kamino Ward, not the safest place for a girl to be wandering around, even in the early morning.

Something tells him that's not it.

But he puts her out of his mind until he's bored of his new system and wants to try out another game. The old games are better than the new ones, made easier to be appealing to more people. He likes the challenge, though, and except for a few continuations of his favorite series, he doesn't have any interest in modern games.

He finds a new game he wants. It's in stock at Old Games, and that's when he remembers Hikari. Tomura's curious enough that when he calls to put in the order, he asks for her to deliver it to him instead of Awakasa.

"Kanasatsu Hikari?" the man on the phone asks in confusion. "No one by that name works here."

"She quit?" he replies, suddenly and irrationally aggravated.

"No… no one by that name has ever worked here."

That's when he realizes that she gave him a false name, and now he _knows_ that she has something to hide. Something to hide from him, and the fear makes sense. He's equal parts angry and curious, and he decides that he's going to track her down and they're going to have a little _talk._

She knows something that made her fear him. He's pretty sure that she's going to have to be eliminated.

"Perhaps I got her name wrong," he says. He doesn't rat out her lie, he doesn't want her to be suspicious of him. Instead, he's going to trap her, and he doubts she's going to be leaving their encounter alive. "She's short, with green eyes and purple hair. She delivered my NeoGeo Pocket a few weeks ago."

"Oh!" the man laughs. "That's Zen Akito. She doesn't usually do deliveries. Is there a problem with Awakasa-san's behavior?"

"No." Awakasa is fine. "I want her to deliver to me again."

If the man thinks it's an odd request, he doesn't mention it. "Of course. We can have the item packaged and delivered by tomorrow."

"I'll pay extra for today."

The man hesitates. "Well, we usually do deliveries in the morning, but if you're willing to pay extra…"

"I am."

"We'll have it to you by the end of the day. Credit or debit?"

Once the transaction is done, Shigaraki smiles a grim smile, scratching at his neck feverishly as he thinks.

"Kurogiri," he calls.

"Yes, Shigaraki Tomura?" the warp portal replies.

"I need you to do something for me."

* * *

"Someone called for a delivery from someone named Kanasatsu Hikari," Daichi says reprovingly, "and when he described her, he described _you._ "

I can't help the way the blood drains from my face. The only person who would know that name would be Shigaraki. Why is he asking after me?

After three weeks of no word or deliveries for him, I figured I had gotten off scot-free. I had been just another face in a crowd and there was nothing suspicious about me.

Had he actually noticed my slip up with his name? But then why wait three weeks to confront it, if he thought I might know his old identity?

"I don't know why he would have gotten my name so wrong," I tell him, straight-faced. "Did he give a reason why he wanted me to deliver to him?" Fishing, fishing, seeing if I needed to ditch this job and move to the other side of Japan.

"He didn't give a reason, just requested you. He wants a rush on his game, so if you could go get it delivered before we close, you'll get the rush fee."

Oh, a rush fee. That's tempting. I might be able to afford the adoption fee for a dog I'd been considering for a while. However, since the dog was a rarer breed for Japan to be found in an adoption center and a puppy, it was a considerably higher price than I could currently afford. Rush fees weren't cheap, and I was willing to take a little risk if it meant adopting Kaia before anyone else could.

"Sure," I say, too excited about getting my puppy even if it meant encountering Shigaraki again.

With much less fear this time, I approach the Mahjong bar and knock, package eagerly tucked under my arm. The shop closes at six, and the sun is on its descent, so I want to get back to the safety of home before anything dangerous comes out to play.

This time, the door opens almost immediately.

"Zen-san," says Shigaraki. There is no inflection in his voice.

"Nice to see you again, Shimu-san," I say cheerfully, not acknowledging the fact that he now knows my real name and has figured out I lied to him. "Here's your package. You don't need to sign this time."

I step forward to hand him the package; he hasn't stepped out far enough for me to reach him easily. The second I take that step, a black portal that I can only identify as Kurogiri forms and sucks me in.

"What the—" I hiss, and then am dropped into the middle of the infamous League of Villains base, or what it will become soon enough. I'm sent sprawling. "What the fuck!" I shout, tossing the package away from me and wishing I could tuck my knives into my sneakers without hurting myself at work. Scrambling to my feet, I put myself in a defensive position, but I'm not sure what to do when Kurogiri can warp me from anywhere he pleases.

"Zen Akito," Shigaraki says, entering the room. "I have some questions for you."

"Yeah?" I say angrily. "This is a _really_ convincing way to get me to answer them."

He misses my sarcasm, though I don't know if it's intentionally or not. "I agree." When I remain standing, still in a position to ward him off, he says, "Sit, or I'll take one of those limbs off."

As if to demonstrate his point, as if I don't already know his quirk, he grips an empty glass on the counter and wraps all five fingers around it. It disintegrates into ash.

Unfortunately, I forget to show the fear that anyone else would when faced with such a dangerous quirk. He narrows his eyes at me.

"So you _do_ know something."

"Nothing important," I say. "Nothing that I'm going to tell anyone else. I don't want to get involved in whatever you're planning, so you can let me go. I'm not a threat."

I'm surprised my voice stays so steady, because fear is coursing through my veins. However, there is the knowledge that he can't really kill me, only hurt me, and right now the thought of pain doesn't faze me. I'm more worried about how he noticed me, how I so easily revealed something. I thought that our encounter before had been harmless and it terrifies me to know it went so wrong.

Shigaraki starts scratching his neck, agitated. "Tell me what you know and maybe I'll consider it."

That's where I hesitate, but I eventually say, softly and as gentle as I can, "I can't do that. I don't want to get involved." And then, as if I can't control my mouth, "Please. I'm really not a threat to you. I just want to keep my head down and mind my own business."

This is not the answer Shigaraki wants to hear. Before I can even flinch, he lunges at me, tackling me to the floor, red eyes almost seeming to glow in his anger.

I don't feel any pain, though.

"See how I'm holding you without my pinkies touching you?" he growls. "The moment they touch, you're going to lose both arms, so I'd _encourage_ you to tell me what I _fucking want to know._ "

Oh, shit. This is really going to hurt.

Mute in my fear, I defiantly shake my head.

"I thought you wanted to keep your head down? Mind your own business? It's going to be hard to do that without any arms." He's taunting me, trying to threaten me into telling him what I—

But it turns out it's not an idle threat. Without warning, I feel both pinkies press down.

The pain starts immediately and I scream in agony. My flesh feels like it's burning away, healing back just quickly enough to keep my raw dermis exposed to disintegration but not reaching any further.

After a few moments and the damage doesn't spread beyond where he's touching me, he pulls back to survey his work. It takes just long enough for me to heal for him to see the skin knitting back together.

"A healing quirk?" he says darkly. "That's inconvenient." Then he leans forward, right in my face, eyes tracking the involuntary tears streaming down my face, my flushed cheeks and gasping mouth.

"I like that look on your face," he says suddenly, licking his dry, chapped lips. I can't help but shudder as his hot breath washes over my face, and a sudden feeling of dread pools in my stomach.

I still can't tell him anything.

Then, without warning, he presses down on my abdomen. The top of my uniform starts to turn to ash and soon my skin is exposed. Heaving with agony, I will my eyes to stay open so I can focus on anything but the pain.

It doesn't work.

Ash is pooling around my sides as the shirt fully disintegrates, leaving me topless except for my sports bra. He pushes harder, and the pain in unimaginable as he manages to touch my organs.

I shriek and cry and try to struggle, but my body is frozen in pain. Finally, after time interminable, he removes his hand from my stomach and everything knits back together.

He eyes his invisible handiwork. He hums in mild disapproval, and that's when Kurogiri interferes.

"Why isn't she dead?" he asks, peering over Shigaraki's shoulder curiously.

"Healing quirk," Shigaraki replies. "Take us somewhere a little more private."

I cringe, gasping and screaming as Shigaraki grips my wrists, not bothering to spare me the pain, and yanks me upwards. My knees buckle and I feel like I'm going to throw up. Kurogiri morphs, Shigaraki tosses me in before following, and I suddenly find myself on my back, sprawled over a bed.

As he mounts the bed, I scramble backwards. All rational thought has fled my mind. "Please," I beg, sobbing. "Please, no more."

"Alright," he says distractedly, but he keeps advancing. I curl up tighter and tighter, trying to shield myself from further pain. I don't believe him for a second.

"You're so pretty like this," he breathes, and my breath stutters to a halt as he yanks my arms away from my chest. His pinkies don't touch me, and I shudder in relief at the lack of pain before I notice that he's looking at my chest hungrily.

"No," I moan helplessly. This isn't happening, and in that second I decide screw the plot, screw everything. Whatever is putting that look on his face needs to stop. I'll tell him anything he wants. I don't even like Japan. It can crumble under his fist and I'll go somewhere safe. America. Australia. Europe. I'm not going to let this go any further. I should have told him from the get-go, but I hadn't realized just how much it would _hurt._

"I'll tell you," I croak. "I'll tell you anything you want to know. Please, just let me go." His eyes flicker up to my face, curious. "Please, I won't—"

I notice too late that his gaze is on my mouth, not my eyes. I pull back immediately but he crushes his lips against my own.

His lips are dry, chapped, and rough. The sloppy kiss burns my mouth, scratching my sensitive skin. Revulsion ripples through me, but I don't dare struggle in case he decides to use his quirk again.

Then his tongue presses against my lips. I can't, I won't. I clench my jaw harder, twisting my head away.

"Come on, Akito-chan," he murmurs huskily. "Just one kiss. I'll let you go after."

I can't control my trembling, quick pants of fear escaping my mouth. He's probably lying, but I can't take the chance that he's not. I squeeze my eyes shut and turn to face him, and when his lips assault mine again, slick tongue forcing its way into my mouth, I try to pretend it's someone else. Someone I find attractive. That this is consensual.

I can't bring myself to reciprocate, though. Shigaraki doesn't seem to care.

And then he pulls away, a sticky string of saliva connecting our lips. The intense urge to gag hits me, but I don't. I don't want him to change his mind.

He draws my hands back together, still not hurting me but instead pinning me to the headboard, and then he starts placing hot, open-mouthed kisses against my throat. It revolts me.

"Y-you said you'd let me go," I whine, even though I had figured it was a lie from the start. I had to try.

"I lied," he confirms. He bites down, hard enough to break the skin. I cry out, but it heals the moment his mouth pulls away.

He glares at the unblemished skin. "Now that's annoying."

Crazed red eyes finally meet mine. I flinch away from them, from the manic glint and the wide, maliciously excited look on his face.

"Are you a virgin?" he asks.

Not in the past, but this body is. Hoping it'll dissuade him, I nod my head, adding on the plea, "Please, don't—don't do this."

"I am too," he says huskily, voice low and full of anticipation. "Let's share this together."

His hands release mine and touch my pants. It's not light enough to save my thighs from his quirk and I scream and writhe again, the pain unexpected. At my screams, he groans and presses his face between my breasts, mumbling so quietly I almost can't hear over my wailing, "You're going to scream _so_ loud for me."

By the time my pants and underwear have disintegrated, I am nothing short of a mess. Sobbing, pleading incoherently, I struggle against him as he pulls my legs away from my body and spreads them around his hips.

He places a hand over my face and I freeze. "Move and I'll touch your face. It'll come back just as nice and pretty, so I don't care if I have to."

Heart pounding so hard, stomach twisting with nausea, I can barely breathe out of fear. I hear him unzip his pants, the rustle of cloth telling me he's undressing. I cry quietly, worried that any jostling movements will have him activate his quirk on me.

Then his hot, hard member is pressing against me, a little precum rubbing my slit. I gasp in horror, unable to control myself. "Please, not like this, not like this!"

"Shut up," he says irritably, and his hand moves from my face to join his other in pulling my hips to cradle him. "You're going to like this and you know it."

I dissolve into hysterics. I'm not going to like this at all. I don't know if it's his inexperience or just that he doesn't care, but no foreplay means pain for the woman. A small glimpse of his unexpected size has tears leaking silently from my eyes, my whole body quaking with horror.

Then, spreading my netherlips, he forces himself into me. Not all at once; no, thrust after increasingly forceful thrust until his bursts through my hymen and bottoms out, brushing painfully against my cervix.

I can't speak. The pain is nothing compared to his quirk, but I'm mute in my horror, and the burning is terrible.

The friction when he begins to move, sloppily and disjointed and extremely uncomfortable, has me calming into a state of shock. I welcome it like a warm blanket on a cold day, and for a little while, I can feel nothing but vague pressure inside me. My mind seems to detach from my body, looking down at the scene below me with terrible indifference.

Luckily, Shigaraki doesn't last long. With a few powerful final thrusts, he pumps his seed inside me, staying still until he's too soft and then pulls out.

I lay there numbly as he catches his breath. Then he cups his four fingers around my face and turns my blank expression towards him.

"How was it?" he asks, like he actually expects me to answer positively—to answer at all. "Was it good for you?"

I can only stare at him with wide-open empty eyes.

"Too much pleasure for you, I guess," he chuckles. I decide right then and there that Shigaraki knows the mechanics of sex and not much else.

Finally, I find my voice. "Are you going to let me go now?" I whisper weakly. He strokes my hair gently, as if a lover.

"Of course not, Player Two," he says as if this is the most obvious thing in the world.

I feel a full-body shudder wrack my form and, overwhelmed by this revelation and exhausted from pain and trauma, I close my eyes and let unconsciousness carry me away to temporary safety.

* * *

 _I hope everyone liked! I should have the next chapter up Christmas Eve, and a third chapter up as a Christmas present to all of you!_


	2. death is calling, it's calling my name

_As promised, the chapter on Christmas Eve!_

 _Again, trigger warnings apply._

 _P.S. This chapter recaps some things simply because it was originally meant to be another story altogether instead of put in the same one as the prologue._

* * *

Have you ever wanted to die so bad it hurts? Where it cuts into your heart, seizes your lungs, hollows your stomach and makes every breath a battle?

I know I do. I'd always thought of my quirk, healing so fast that I physically can't die of anything short of old age, was a bonus in a world where there was plenty of violence. I thought the fact that my muscles healed so quickly that strength, stamina, muscle memory was so easy to build that I could more or less keep myself safe.

I had never wanted to be transported to the world of Boku no Hero Academia, especially when I knew 'spoilers', but I thought I could keep my head down and stay safe. The whole thing would work itself out. I'd be fine, even if I had to leave Japan.

Oh, god, how I wish I had run away as soon as I knew where I was.

I dig my long fingernails into my skin, scratching repeatedly. Even when I draw blood, the wounds heal as soon as the skin's broken. My captor had figured out early on that if I didn't eat enough, my injuries would stay stay until I ate next. While at first he had found my healing inconvenient, he now prefers to keep me well-fed—threatening his quirk otherwise—in order to keep me in shape. The only times he starves me is when he thinks I deserve punishment, or when he wants to see evidence of his claim on me.

My name is Zen Akito and I'm Shigaraki Tomura's 'Player Two.'

Player Two essentially means I'm his captive, or as he considers it, his girlfriend. I don't know what goes on in that sick, immature mind of his, but all his wiring is wrong. He needs to be killed. Prison would be too easy; no, he needs his head cut off and served up on a platter.

Ideally as a gift to me.

But all my hatred, all my fury, all my pain, has been forced deep. His means of punishment—a go 'round with his quirk on my bare skin, sometimes for minutes at a time—has, unfortunately, traumatized me. There's no reason why it wouldn't, but—I'm so tired of being _afraid_.

Honestly, the way he uses and abuses my body doesn't even match up. Sure, he thinks he's pleasuring me every time, but I can honestly say that aside from a natural building up of lubrication from repeated trauma, I have never once felt even a sparkle of pleasure from him.

I don't dare tell him that, though. I don't need to add enjoying being raped along with everything else. The lack of good feelings around him, the lack of positive reinforcement or aftercare, is staving off the Stockholm syndrome, I think. Every time he forces me to fall asleep in his arms, even the gentle way he strokes me sometimes, never does anything but send me into broken resignation. He hurts me too much and I can never please him, even the few times that I tried to in a bid to get just a little kindness.

I regret having avoided familiar faces, pro-Hero faces. If they knew me, if I had tried to make friends, maybe they would have saved me. Maybe I'd have any hope of being saved at all.

Once I had tried to lull him into false security, behaving obediently, even faking a couple of orgasms. Eating all my food. Pandering to him, listening to him vent—I had acted like a willing participant in this relationship for nearly a month. He'd decided one night that he wanted me to see the supermoon, and he let me go outside with him.

Of course, this was the chance I had been waiting for, so the moment we were outside, I bolted.

But my muscles were atrophied and I wasn't used to running anymore, nor had I kept up my strength. I hadn't fallen soon enough for him to think I had tripped, and I made it far enough for him to know that I'd tried to escape.

He'd pressed his hands all over my body in different intervals for almost fifteen minutes in punishment. I lost twenty pounds from the constant healing. I think that was my breaking point, when I realized he was never going to let me go, that my only chance of escape was when the 1-A students would hunt down Bakugou in an effort to save him.

If I was still alive by then, maybe they'd save me too. But that was possibly years away.

I could starve and cut and starve and cut until I could no longer heal and I finally died. _Years_. Maybe I'd be too insane by then to even go back to a normal life. Maybe I'd live the rest of my life in a nursing home, too broken to do even the most basic of tasks.

It barely bothers me at this point.

When Tomura walks in to 'our' bedroom, where he usually keeps me chained to a post like a dog, so that I can walk around, go to the bathroom, and lay on the bed, though not much else, he greets me in what almost passes for cheerfulness. At least he's not in a bad mood.

"Akito-chan," he purrs, appraising my lanky, too-thin body, dressed loosely in his shirt and boxers. He likes seeing me in his clothes. It's not like I have any of my own anymore, and I'd rather not be naked all the time. "I've got good news."

His definition of good news is usually very different from mine, but I don't protest. I look up at him, staring into those red eyes with fear, dulled by overexposure. "What is it?" I ask, because I had tried to be mute once, to ignore his existence, and it worked just about as well as trying to escape.

"I'm going on a little outing soon," he tells me with a manic smile. "And you're coming, too."

My heart pounds painfully, once, twice in my chest. Another attempt to escape? If he punishes me like last time I tried, I'll die before he gets all his anger out. I'll disintegrate and be free. I might even get to die outside, under the sky, breathing fresh air until I fade away. I've only regained fifteen of the twenty pounds I'd lost before and it's been two weeks.

"Where are we going?" I ask quietly, clearing my throat when it crackles from disuse.

"That's a surprise," he says, walking over to where I'm huddled on the floor. "Come on, get up. I want to hold you."

Never let it be said that fear is not a powerful motivator. Despite everything I feel for him, I shakily stand up and follow him to the bed, curling into his chest when we lay down just like he wants me to.

Tomura breathes in deeply. "Have you taken a bath recently?" he asks with a frown.

"Just not today," I lie. I haven't bathed in three days in the hope that my ripe smell might drive him away.

"You smell," he replies, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Let's go get you bathed."

That wasn't the intended result. I prepare myself mentally for the assault; Tomura doesn't seem to be able to be anywhere near my naked body without having to use it.

He turns on the tub, surprisingly, since he usually prefers shower sex, pinning me up against the wall and rutting into me with every snap of his hips. The water acts as lubrication where I have none, and it's not good but it's better than nothing.

Tomura leaves me to stand, sitting down on the toilet lid and watching the tub fill. "If you do well when we go out, I have a special present for you," he tells me.

This piques my interest, but only a little. "Yeah?" I ask. "What is it?"

"That's a surprise."

"Everything's a surprise," I grumble, leaning back against the wall.

"There wouldn't be any fun in it if it wasn't," he says, smiling sharply. "I promise you'll like this one, though."

I know without a doubt now that I _won't_ like this one. At all.

The bath is almost full now, and Tomura turns it off so that we can both settle in without it overflowing. I hate that it fits both of us almost comfortably. He starts undressing and I know the routine; with mechanical movements, I remove the shirt and boxers, letting them drop carelessly onto the floor. Tomura takes me by the wrist, pinkie finger extended, and guides me to sit between his legs in the steaming water.

Using his favorite scented soap—one that I've come to loathe, even though it's not offensive in itself—he starts lathering my hair. Hair is tricky with his quirk: he never touches one strand or my scalps with his full hands, so it never hurts me. The feeling of those gentle hands, dry and scratchy against my scalp even with the lather of shampoo, combined with my deeply ingrained terror of them, has me trembling in fear. It's an automatic response at this point. Only Tomura touches me, and Tomura's touch almost always results in pain or some other form of discomfort.

"Are you cold?" he asks to my trembling. "I made the water extra hot."

"I'm fine," I reply truthfully. It's his touch, not the water, that is causing this. "Guess I'm just winding down after a long day."

Tomura decides that's not worth replying to and moves on to washing the rest of my body, then expects me to do his. He's tall and hard as a rock right now, but so far he hasn't made any indication of wanting to rape me.

I wash him as expected, my touch clinical and unfeeling. The musculature of his body unnerves me, the leanness and strength beneath such a thin body. Before I was captured, I could have taken him in a fight, but he had taken me by surprise, and the pain came before I could even fight back. It's one of my most shameful moments, my biggest regret, that I froze instead of fighting.

Fight, flight, freeze. And freeze is the worst of them, the least mentioned for all its commonness. We all like to think we'd fight back when attacked, or at least run, but more often than not, the brain tells the body to freeze in place, to make ourselves invisible and nonthreatening.

I hate myself. I hate myself every day for it.

As I wash his hair, not roughly but certainly not gently, I feel tears prick my eyes. I'm vaguely surprised by this, as I haven't cried from emotional pain since the attempt to escape, too lost in my resignation. But remembering that fatal mistake, of letting him grab me and not taking him as a real threat for the split second he needed, has me breaking inside all over again.

I swallow the sob. Force back the tears. If he catches me crying, who knows what will happen?

The ache in my throat tells me that I'm going to have to cry at some point tonight. Physiologically, my body isn't giving me a choice.

I finish and Tomura turns on the shower briefly to spray off the excess soapy water. I brace myself for the rape, but it doesn't come. Neither do the clothes come on and I don't let my guard down.

Tomura settles next to me on the bed. "I got you some nice food tonight. You'll enjoy it."

No, I won't. Everything tastes like ash to me ever since the loss of my freedom. I eat to escape the torture, not to survive.

"Thank you," I say anyways.

Tomura turns on his side and faces me. "I did a little research," he says. That's never good. "I don't think you're enjoying sex as much as you should be."

I stiffen. Has he caught on?

He sighs. "I just haven't paid enough attention to you, I guess. But tonight, I'm going to make you come so hard you scream my name."

I won't come, but I'll certainly scream his name so loud that all of Kamino Ward will hear me. Needs must.

He turns my face to him, away from the ceiling I had been blankly staring up at all. "We have a little time before the food is delivered," he murmurs. "Let me make you feel good."

Like it's even an option for me to say no. I'd tried telling him I was too tired once. He said that he'd do all the work, relax me enough so that I could sleep peacefully. He had noticed my trauma dreams by that point.

He presses a gentle kiss to my mouth. I wait until he prods for entrance before parting my lips—never quite fighting back, but making it clear, at least to myself, that I'm being as defiant in this as I can without being hurt.

He twists so that he's on top of me, and with careful touches starts to pinch and twist my nipples. I fake a moan, and my peaks are tight, but from the goosebumps of revulsion. He doesn't have to know the truth, and he won't if I don't say anything.

Biting and suckling down my neck and collarbone until he reaches my breast, he closes his lips gently around my peak and swirls his tongue around the areola, teasing with not quite enough friction.

That softness, that gentleness, creates a small spark in my abdomen. He's never been so soft before, always rough and demanding and easy to ignore.

But now he's teasing. I don't know what he researched or why, but whatever he's looked up… might actually work.

He nips down, grazing the peak with his teeth. The sparkle intensifies and I hiss a breath through my teeth.

Tomura looks up at me smugly. "That's a sound you've never made before," he says, self-satisfied. I hope he never makes the connection between my fake sounds and my real sounds, or I'm in for some serious trouble. "You _really_ like this, don't you?"

I can barely move, too horrified by my reaction to form words.

He pulls away and resettles on my other breast, putting forth all the same effort. I try to keep my breathing calm but it's not really working, whether from hysteria or arousal I can't tell. I'm betting on hysteria; it feels good, but not heaving-breathing good. It's still Tomura doing this to me. It's still rape.

Slowly, he moves away from my breasts and laves open-mouthed kisses down my stomach until he reaches my thatch of curls. I gasp and stiffen. No, _no_ —can any woman _not_ enjoy oral sex if done right?

That thought calms me. Tomura's only ever cared about his own pleasure. There's no way he's going to be able to do anything even vaguely stimulating.

But his tongue finds my clit almost immediately, a long, strong stroke right up my slit. My hips buck and I force a hand to my mouth to stifle the chilling moan that escapes my lips.

"That's a noise you've never made before, too," Tomura says. No suspicion in his eyes yet, while mine are starting to get wet with tears. "And you taste so good… we'll have to do this more often."

And he continues to lick and stroke, sliding a finger inside me, then two, until I'm panting, on the precipice, and I know he's going to make me come. There's no avoiding it now.

His fingers find that little patch of nerves at the same time that he sucks violently on my clit with a graze of teeth and I keen, coming so hard that I can't stop my hips from nearly bucking him off. At the same time, tears escape, and the keen turns from overwhelming pleasure to a deep, wrenching pain.

This time, Tomura doesn't comment. He just licks up the last of my juices before moving up to press his cock inside me.

He glides in smoothly and hisses. "This is amazing," he pants, and I know it's going to click soon that I've been lying about enjoying anything he does to me for so long, but I'm in too much pain to care. This is rape, and as he thrusts inside me in a dangerously pleasant rhythm, I realize that I'm genuinely going to enjoy it, enjoy being taken against my will. It's the one thing that I had always relied upon to stay strong: he had never affected me before. But now…

I can't help it. That physiological need to cry breaks through.

Loud keening, the kind of wrenching sobbing that speaks of a soul-deep pain, escapes me. Tears flow quickly, wetting my lashes and cheeks and temples. After a near-convulsing sob, Tomura snarls, "Are you _crying?_ "

"N-no," I sob. "It j-just… feels so good." It's the most blatantly obvious lie I've ever told him.

Thankfully, though, he takes me at my word, picking up his pace. My emotions are so messed up right now that physical sensation has all but ceased to exist.

Finally, at long last, he comes. He's built up his stamina quite a bit since the first time. As soon as he's pulling out, there's a knock on the locked door. "Dinner," calls Kurogiri, knowing better than to interrupt Tomura's time with his 'girlfriend.'

Pulling on some sweats, Tomura forces a kiss one last time before going to fetch my meal.

I eat mechanically. My stomach swirls with nausea. Everything hurts, and I feel like I'm never going to be okay again. I'm never coming back from this.

I let myself cry that night until I'm empty. I'm a void. Everything that makes me myself is gone. Shigaraki Tomura has stripped me of everything I love, care about, value. I'm just an empty shell.

I can't wait to die, and I'm going to do it the first chance I get.

* * *

 _I know tomorrow is a holiday for most people, and hopefully you'll be with your families, so I hope you can enjoy this chapter today! That said, thank you to everyone who is working tomorrow, whether you volunteered or were brought in, because you deserve gratitude for that! Alongside that, happy holidays to everyone who doesn't celebrate Christmas,_ _Hanukkah, or any other religious holiday. I hope your time off (or on, as the case may be) is relaxing, enjoyable, and fun!_

 _(Can you tell I'm incredibly socially awkward? Well, above is exhibit A.)_

 _Anyways, love you guys! Thanks so much for the follows and faves! And don't forget..._

 _reviews are love. :D_


	3. glass-shattered heart

**Happy Holidays/Merry Christmas!**

* * *

Whatever Tomura's planning, it can't be good for anyone.

Except me.

The last couple of days, he's barely spent any time with or around me, only returning to feed me and at night cuddle and sleep. The relief from his lack of presence is a small thing, not even worth mentioning, but the fact that he doesn't touch me beyond casual caresses and without sexual intent is.

Meanwhile, I'm preparing.

With the outing that's coming up soon—though I don't know exactly when—my wish to die is becoming closer to reality, and I've decided that it's important that I make sure I'm in a position to escape when it happens. Right now, I'm even weaker than when I had tried to escape the first time. That has to be rectified.

Even if the end result is the same as if I fail—my death—there's something appealing about dying by my own hand, under my own power, and not having the life stolen from me, especially not by the person who's stolen everything else. He's taken away all that I have—but he can't take away this.

I fall back into the pattern that I had been taught upon magically appearing in this world. Kato Dan is someone I had sought out early, an award-winning martial artist with a quirk that made him a beast at body-building. I had tracked him down as soon as I realized my quirk and its implications and had begged him to train me. It had taken a few weeks of begging, and then another month of extreme training to prove myself, but he had eventually accepted me as an apprentice.

I hadn't learned nearly enough from him at the time of my kidnapping. I wish I had cut hours at Old Games to train more.

With my quirk, my muscles heal as fast as they're used, the microtears made by exercising repairing themselves instantly, making it simple enough to build strength and stamina. It's almost like my body _wants_ me to be in the best shape possible. I had had the idea to use my strength early on to break my chains and escape that way, but however long ago that was, Tomura had kept a keen eye on me and had brought my body building attempts to a halt long before they culminated into anything. After my first escape attempt failing so spectacularly, I had given up on it all. I could only fight close-combat and Tomura had all the advantage. The pain of decay was enough to incapacitate anyone, and with my quirk, he's never been afraid to use it on me.

It's different now. I'm not escaping to live. I'm escaping just long enough to die.

Since that first and so far only orgasm, something is broken. I can feel it, like something important has been shattered. I can't go so far as to call it hope—I haven't had that in a long time. Just another thing Tomura has stolen from me. Maybe it's an important foundational stone to my sanity, which would certainly make sense.

The problem is that none of the pain of that missing piece is in my head, not even my chest. I can feel it pounding away with my heart, like a physical piece of it has left. It's like… my aorta's been removed. Or atria. Hell, I don't know anything about heart anatomy, but it feels like it's pumping differently and it _hurts_.

The change doesn't matter. So what if I have heart problems now? It's not like I'm going to check into the hospital once this is over. But if this is going to be over at all, I have to start training.

I start easy, tracing the longest path around the room that the chain allows. It's lightweight, made from some kind of metal that has always been too sturdy for me to break. That's good in this case, because I don't want to unevenly train my legs. That would make running a bit of a difficulty, and I have enough cards stacked against me as it is.

I spend all day walking, then running. The pain my chest seems to ease a little with the exertion, and while I can't really build up speed, I can build up stamina. I run and run and run, in this tiny bedroom, and then I start adding obstacles: using the bed as a spring in the middle of my run so that my legs get that little extra push.

Afterwards, I'm starving. Dinner should be coming soon, and I'm going to ask for seconds. I'll tell some bullshit lie that having such intense sex last night had made me extra hungry. If it results in another orgasm, well, it's not like I have any lower to go.

Still, I stretch. I vaguely recall some yoga from my past world and work on my core. It's only when the burning from moving turns into outright pain that I know that I'm pushing past my calorie intake and instead burning muscle that I've been building up. I stop immediately.

I take a long, hot shower and rehydrate. Tomura catches me just as I'm putting a fresh change of clothes on. I've already hidden the old, sweat-drenched outfit deep inside the hamper so that he has no reason to be suspicious of my daily activities.

"Hello, Akito-chan," he says, a huge takeout bag in his arms. "You look bright-eyed and bushy tailed today. Happy to see me?"

I don't even have to lie. He has food. "Yeah, I am." But it lacks enthusiasm all the same. "What did you get for dinner?"

"I was feeling a little extravagant," he says, a non-answer. "And you still haven't gained that weight back, so I ordered you extra."

It's subtle, but I can hear a darker undertone under his words. He expects he might have to punish me, and he wants to make sure I'll survive it. The fact that he expects it disheartens me a little, but Tomura, while a man-child, is not an idiot. And I've shown too much defiance these past few months for him to ever build any real kind of trust with me, I think.

After toweling off my hair—it's gotten particularly long, has always grown a little too fast because of my quirk—I settle to sit with him on the bed. Like a child, he seems to scorn sitting at the table like a real adult, so he haphazardly sets out the Styrofoam takeout trays. There's only one for him, an average meal, and five for me.

I eat ravenously, and still keep going even once I'm full. Calories are literally the difference between escape and captivity.

"Tell me something, Akito-chan," Tomura says, leaning back against the headboard with a full stomach. He motions for me to join him and I obediently curl up against him.

"What do you want to know?" I ask dully. Forced conversation with him is the least of his sins against me, but it feels so violating to be expected to share my thoughts with him, so I usually lie.

"What's your favorite gemstone?"

I pause, taken a little aback. "Why?"

Tomura shakes me by my shoulders lightly, a mild indication of irritation. "Just answer the question."

With thinking of a lie, I blurt out, "Emeralds."

"Like your eyes," he hums.

"They're not…" I start to say, then stop. There's no point in arguing. My eyes are a light lime green with a yellow gold tint. Emerald is the last thing they look like.

"Is green your favorite color, then?"

These non-sequitur answers throw me for a loop. "Uh… no."

Sighing, Tomura tightens his grip on my arm and hisses impatiently, " _Then what is?_ "

He's in one of those moods, I realize now. Best to just cooperate. "Red."

He considers me. "Clashes with your coloring," he says noncommittally.

"Cool shades don't," I reply with a shrug. Best to just humor him right now. If he decides he wants to punish me, the calories I'll burn healing will make today's training moot.

He's quiet for a little while, idly playing with my hair while I listen to the heartbeat of an human monster. I close my eyes, wary for any shifting or changes in posture. Reading his moods is especially important when he controls every aspect of my being.

I sink in to misery then. It's all my fault that I thought I could keep safe on my own. Who knows—this could have happened with any villain, even if it's worse that it's Tomura with the power to hurt me so badly. If only someone had cared about me in this world, if only I had reached out instead of being only coworker-friendly with Daichi and avoiding any deeper connections. If only I had put myself out there instead of pitying myself for my unfortunate circumstances, missing home too much to make a life for myself here.

If only someone would save me. If only someone cared that I was missing enough _to_ save me. If only someone had had my back, maybe I'd be able to live free after this. Maybe I wouldn't be traumatized, internally scarred beyond repair. If I had had just one person who cared about me, just one person to protect—

The pain in my heart, previously a dull thudding, suddenly doubles and I cry out, clutching my chest and curling into myself. Tomura immediately sits up and pulls me to him.

"What's going on?" he demands. "What's wrong?" There's genuine concern in his voice, but I'm not sure it's for me.

"Nothing," I grit out, trying to take deep breaths through the pain. What had caused it? It's been steady all day, but it feels like I'm having a heart attack. Maybe I am. I won't die under the sky, but I know for sure that Tomura isn't going to risk taking me to the hospital.

"Bullshit," he swears uncommonly, jumping to his feet. "Stay there and keep breathing. I'll get you some aspirin."

By the time he returns, the pain has mostly passed. Even so, I take the water and the pills. It'd be nice if they could ease the still-constant pain, if only for a little while.

"How are you now?" he asks after fifteen minutes, long enough for the chewable tablets to do something.

"I feel much better," I say, hiding my disappointment that it wasn't actually a heart attack. "I… thanks."

Tomura likes when I show appreciation to him. As if he ever really gives me anything to appreciate. Lies, it's all lies.

"Go to bed early tonight," he tells me. "I'm going to stay up and monitor you, make sure you're really okay."

Fine, if that's what he wants to do. I hope his concern doesn't drag over into to tomorrow, so I can train again. Maybe the exertion is what's causing the chest pain, though I doubt it. On the off chance that it is, there'll be a sick kind of humor in him coming back at night with dinner only to find me sprawled dead on the floor.

That comforting thought has me drifting to sleep, even as the music from that damned NeoGeo Pocket plays in the background.

That night, for some reason, I dream of a strong man lifting me into the air, his arms the most comforting thing in the world. I feel safe, protected, but then I'm falling. I'm caught by soft strips of velvet and land safely in another man's arms. Pulling together, they fold me in an embrace that makes me want to cry—but from happiness.

I wake up the next morning and my heart doesn't hurt at all, but there's a lump in my throat and I wish, I wish so much, that that had been reality.

* * *

Either Tomura's not too concerned about my little episode or he's really just that busy, but he leaves me to my own devices. The chest pain returned shortly after the dream faded from memory and I didn't let the relief of my imagination stick around for long. I had work to do.

Now, to strength training. As I do pushups, curls, sit-ups, and the katas that Kato-sensei had taught me, I feel a sort of invigoration. I'm doing something now. I'm fighting back, even if Tomura doesn't know it. Maybe I'm not as helpless as I've led myself to believe, but there is something to be said for Tomura trusting me enough to let me out again.

 _Everything,_ I think to myself as I punch the air, _has had to lead up to this point._

The chest in my heart seems to ease as I go into defensive maneuvers, then offensive, then back to strength building. At the end of the day, about an hour before I expect Tomura to come back, I cooldown by sprinting as much as I can around the room. Then I repeat yesterday's shower and wait for him on the bed, pretending to have been bored all day without him.

He comes with extra food again. He really wants me to gain that weight back, and little does he know, I am, just not the way he wants. If I can avoid punishment, I'm going to keep all my hard work. It'll be exactly what puts me in the position to escape… and finally die. There's no existing after this.

The next few days go on much in the same way. At one point Tomura makes a complaint about running out of boxers because I've been going through them too fast. Instead of being suspicious, though, he just makes me do a load of laundry in a room just down the hall that doesn't have a window or any way to escape.

What? You thought Tomura wouldn't use me to do the chores a man-child like him would abhor?

But this is a good thing. He can't see the wrinkled, sweat-stained clothing I've been hiding from him. While waiting on the laundry, I use one of the sturdy metal bars used to hang clothes to do pull-ups and curl-ups. Naked, of course. I can't let him see that I've been exercising.

His libido comes back somewhere in the middle of the week, but with everything going on, he seems too preoccupied with his own pleasure and the fake sounds I make to try anything genuinely pleasurable again. As always, that doesn't make it any better.

And then, on a Monday night (as far as I can tell), he comes down with a brown shopping bag and thrusts it at me.

"Here. Make sure it fits."

I can't have been any more confused if I tried, but it makes sense upon seeing the clothing inside the bag. If we're going on an outing, I definitely can't wear his shirt and boxers and pass for normal.

He's gotten me a dark red, form-fitting tank top, some tight black jeans that don't restrict my movement, a pair of knee-high boots, several different bras of different sizes, and a pack of underwear. I can't help but notice that he chose the top in a shade of my favorite color and it makes me feel sick.

"It's just a start," he tells me as I look at the clothing with mixed feelings. "If you behave on this trip, I might start letting you come out with me more, and you'll need more clothes for that."

I nod, little more than an acknowledgement. I don't plan to behave on this trip—I can't take another second with him. But if my chances don't look so good at escaping… maybe behaving will open the doorway to other opportunities.

"Well? Try them on," he huffs impatiently, sitting down on the bed.

Getting up and turning my back to him—he sighs, exasperated at my 'shyness'—I put on some fresh underwear (though I would have rather run it through the laundry first) and then start trying on the bras. When losing that much weight, it was impossible to figure out where my size went. I do find a fitting bra, though, and it's a larger size than I expected, though I'll never be a busty woman with my metabolism and quirk. Fat just burns too quickly.

Once the bra is on, I put on the rest of the clothing. Tomura lends me some socks, and thankfully, the boots are a good fit and not heeled, making it possible to run in them. He couldn't have given me a better outfit to escape in if he tried. The only improvement would be a sports bra, but from my understanding, with an outfit like this, he wants to show me off at least a little. That curdles something in my stomach, and instead of continuing to think about it, I turn and let him appraise me.

He inspects my body much closer than I think he's ever done, and I feel a nervous sweat trickle down my spine when I realize that my strength training is clearly visible. He's going to know I've been preparing, going to know I'm planning to escape, he's not going to take me along—

Tomura squeezes my right bicep thoughtfully, pinkie finger pulled away. "Your quirk really is amazing. You just heal back all your muscle?"

Mutely, I nod, the lie better than the truth.

He slants his red eyes at me, something cold and burning in them. "If you pull anything funny tomorrow, I'm going to give you _scars_. Do you understand?"

Scars aren't possible unless I'm starved, and even then, they'll heal back to normal eventually. But Tomura's pretty familiar with my quirk by now, so that threat is potent. He could keep me starved long enough that I heal naturally, leaving behind long swathes of thickened, twisted skin from his quirk.

Swallowing hard, I nod again, and start to consider that maybe I do have to play my cards safely. If I can't get a good chance at escaping tomorrow, I have to bide my time. He's so deadly serious that I feel a fresh flash of fear overtaking what's already always present around him.

But it's not over. He goes back to the shopping bag and pulls out a black box. "This is for you," he says, something like anticipation in his eyes. That's never good, and I watch him warily as he opens the box.

Inside, to my utmost surprise, is a silver choker chain with a large emerald at the front and several smaller ones embedded in the intricate metalwork around it. I do my best not to flinch back when he clasps it around my neck, just close-fitting enough to breathe comfortably but tight enough to make me think of it as a collar.

Tomura steps back and takes in the whole ensemble. I fidget, not liking the look in his eyes: it's warm, affectionate, fond. It's like he really, genuinely has some kind of feelings for me and isn't just taking advantage of someone he could put into captivity for him.

And then he smiles brightly, with teeth and crinkled eyes. "I love you, Akito," he says, and pulls me into a kiss. I feel my whole body go cold at the declaration.

I'm just so glad that, as his chosen nighttime activities progress, there's no point where he expects me to say it back to him.

That's a lie I couldn't bring myself to tell.

* * *

 _Reviews are the best presents!_


	4. helpless

_I'm posting this chapter before I start hating it more than I already do. I had to get it out of the way. Please be gentle, I'm super nervous, and I would really appreciate feedback, if I did okay or not. What I can fix. I'm not used to writing action scenes, nor scenes with a bunch of different characters. I might come back and edit later, but probably not. It's a mess, but it's my mess, and I hope you like it anyways for all its messiness._

* * *

Also, stuff might not make sense this chapter. Please hold on until the next one: everything is explained.

I should have known.

Tomura finally lets me aboveground the next day. The lights are so much brighter that I temporarily lose my sight and am forced to squint for a good few moments, even though this is just normal lighting. Tomura likes his room dim, and with everything of importance being beneath the bar, I've grown adjusted to the darkness.

At long last, I focus on Kurogiri, who I haven't seen since the day I was captured. Tomura had been adamant about keeping me all to himself. Kurogiri greets Tomura but ignores me like I'm a decoration on his leader's arm, and that's more or less the case. I'm not offended by being ignored, but it does sting to remember that I'm really no more than Tomura's accessory, used and abused at his pleasure.

Which he apparently thinks is love.

I don't focus on that. Tomura grips my wrist tightly, and though I'm pretty sure I could break free, I don't, just standing still obediently.

"Are we ready?" Tomura asks.

"Yes," Kurogiri replies. "Everyone has been gathered."

Everyone? Who's everyone? I swallow hard. Have Dabi and Touga been recruited already? Has it been that long? It certainly feels like it, but it also means I've been long forgotten. If Takamura had ever sent out a search party for me—which I had certainly hoped for in the first week of my captivity—no one had found me. The few people I ever interacted with are certain I'm dead, surely.

I will be soon enough, anyways. There's no reason to remind Takamura, Awakasa, or Daichi that I exist. If they mourned me at all, even if only in the most distant of ways, there's no reason to let them know I was alive only to kill myself before anything else happened. That would just be selfish.

I don't know what it's like to want to kill yourself when there are people who will miss you, but the only person who will miss me is the person I'm trying to escape. I'm only hurting Tomura if I die, and that's the best revenge I can get, for all that it'll probably last a few days at most. Whatever he thinks he feels for me isn't real, and once I'm out of sight, inaccessible, he'll forget, too, and I'll go on to whatever afterlife awaits me.

I'm so caught up in my thoughts that I barely notice when Tomura drags me through Kurogiri's portal. However, the slight swooping sensation of warping in my stomach brings me back to the present.

We're in a warehouse full of small-time villains. I don't recognize any of them, but the sheer number of them tells me that this outing isn't one I'll likely be able to escape from.

We're going to USJ, I realize. Where Aizawa is nearly killed and All Might sustains heavy damage. Where it's only in the nick of time that the other teachers show up. No one is going to be able to save me, or even want to save me. They'll probably assume that I'm on Tomura's side, if the way he's now possessively gripping me to his side says anything.

I feel tears prick my eyes and Kurogiri warps and unfolds until he's the largest portal I've seen.

I'm sticking around a little longer, it seems. The consolation that good behavior will give me another opportunity doesn't make it feel better at all, and I find myself forcing back tears the best I can.

Maybe I can get hit in the crossfire… but I won't die. I won't escape. It'll just stop Tomura from taking me outside again.

I swallow a sob of failure, of soul-deep pain, and resign myself to staying on my best behavior. My heart throbs painfully in my chest, for a moment almost crippling. I ignore it. I hope it's a heart attack this time. I hope…

I wish I could help, I suddenly think. If I help, though, I'll face Tomura's wrath later. But he's going to ultimately lose, so I'm sure I'll face something horrible from him anyways. If I could help…

If I could protect myself… or them…

I remember Thirteen's collapsed body, suit torn wide open. I remember Aizawa's broken, bloody form being carted around by Izuku and Mineta. I remember the lack of smile on All Might's face, the twisted injury on his left side, the pain he endured and how close he came to death. The students had come out alright, but the people protecting them…

I wish I could help them. I wish I could do something to make this outcome even a little better. Even if I'll suffer at Tomura's hands later, if I could change the plot so that he loses earlier…

I wish for a lot of things, but none of them has ever come true. I doubt my wishes right now will mean anything.

Following Tomura through the portal, my first view of the Unforeseen Simulation Joint is blinded by the bright lights, and at the sight of the frightened students and unsuspecting Aizawa and Thirteen, my heart twists on itself, I feel a rush of heat, and my legs crumble beneath me as my vision blacks out.

* * *

At first, Aizawa is alarmed at the number of villains that pour out of a purplish-black portal. They all seem small-time, though, and he feels like he might be able to take them. Even a hulking beast in the very back, black and tall and beaked like a bird, while a threat, doesn't seem like the end of the world.

The thing is, it's all illogical unless they're going after the students, which—if they wanted that, they could have much more easily picked them off with several skilled fighters instead of a bunch of amateurs. What's the goal, here?

Then he sees the man at the epicenter of it all, embracing a collapsed woman. Civilian, from the looks of her. She has no special outfit to show off her quirk, nor is her quirk physically manifested, and her sudden weakness upon exiting the portal shows that she's not really built out of tough stuff.

Why bring a civilian? Is she a hostage? He's not going to endanger an entire class of promising students— _his_ promising students—for one woman, no matter how bad he might feel for her to be in the clutches of a villain. It's not rational.

Then the blue-haired young man starts spouting about killing All Might, complaining that he's not here. The woman is left on the ground, unconscious as she is, but Aizawa notices that this… Shigaraki, his name is, stands close to her, protectively. Maybe a civilian accomplice; maybe a lover? Why bring along such easy leverage in an outright attack?

Aizawa puts the logistical anomaly out of his mind for the moment, instead choosing to dive into the fray to protect his students. He does notice, however, when the civilian struggles to her feet, and Shigaraki immediately takes notice and pulls her into him like she's something precious. Lover, then. He feels a ripple of disgust flow through him at the sight.

That's also put out of his mind when the warp portal separates his students and puts them all in grave danger en masse.

"…torture them to death, as a message to All Might," Shigaraki is saying.

Aizawa's going to kill that boy, no matter what he has to sacrifice.

* * *

I've never felt more helpless as the chaos unfolds around me. Captivity, somehow, wasn't worse than seeing people I knew, if only through a manga, being hurt. I knew it would work out okay, but nothing better than that. This is only the start of things getting bad; this is the beginning of the end.

I'd always sworn to myself that I'd stay out of the plot, but the plot has brought itself to me and here I am, held tightly in Tomura's arms, unable to do anything.

"Are you okay?" Tomura asks as he rests his chin on my shoulder. The severed hand, while well-preserved, is not my favorite thing to have close to me.

"I'm fine," I say shakily. "Just—the chest pain."

"We'll have to get it checked out," Tomura says distractedly, his eyes surveying the damage he's wreaking.

I don't bother responding; he's not paying attention to me anyways.

It's only when Izuku starts interfering that Tomura turns back to me. "I'm going to fix this little problem," he tells me. "Stay here, like a good girl."

And when he's reaching for Tsuyu's face, when Izuku cuts in with a singular punch that doesn't mangle him and it hits Nomu, damn me but I don't do anything. I just stand there like the helpless idiot I am and watch it unfold, numb with knowing it'll be okay, _oh god, please let it be okay_ , and then Aizawa join the fray to save his students.

My heart pounds once, twice in my chest, then seems to still.

Nomu grabs Aizawa. I watch as blood flies through the air as one of Aizawa's arms is snapped at an inhuman angle, his strangled grunt of pain making my stomach turn to lead.

Oh god. I'm just enabling this. I'm just watching. I have to—I have to do something—

I take an aborted step forward before Tomura reappears before me, dragging my back to his chest. I have to stay still. There's no escaping this time, no death, no freedom. I have to watch it happen and do nothing, behave. Tears fill my eyes as Izuku cries out, as Aizawa's face is smashed hard enough into the ground to leave a crater. As Aizawa fights back, only to have his other arm broken in a closed, unthinking fist.

"I didn't know you got off to this," Tomura says huskily in my ear. I freeze at the words for a moment, not comprehending at all what he's saying while his fingers card through my sweat-slicked hair.

But as I take stock of my body, I realize where he could possibly get that impression. My chest is heaving, I'm panting heavily, my body has collapsed back into his for lack of ability to hold myself up. I'm sure my face is flushed in my upset, but he can't see that from where he's standing behind me, nor the tears.

Still, he couldn't be more wrong. My chest is heaving with air hunger, the feeling of breathlessness before a panic attack where you gasp for air but it's never enough, no matter how deep the breath. I'm panting to get that never-enough air, heated and flushed with roiling nausea. My body leans into his not for lust, not for comfort, but because I'm not sure how else to stand up against this. There is _nothing I can do._

He takes my silence as agreement, and to my horror, he grinds his hard, lengthy member against my backside and nuzzles my cheek with that damn hand getting in the way. "You know, I feel the same way," Tomura confides like this is a surprise. His near-instantaneous transition from torturing me to raping me has made it pretty clear, though at first I didn't make the connection. Pain, fear—they get him off. But he's somehow figured in his head that I'm a willing participant in it all. Delusional might not be a strong enough word.

I can't bring myself to say anything.

He grinds against me again, then starts a rhythm against my rear. I feel lightheaded, struggling to cope with too many sensations, too many horrors at once. "I could bend you over and fuck you right here," he tells me in uncommon filthiness. "With everyone watching. They'll all know you're mine." He groans in my ear and his thrusts grow more heated, hands pulling my hips to grind back against him.

For some reason, in all the chaos—of my emotions, of my body, of the battlefield, of the world—my eyes find Aizawa. He's barely conscious, but I can't help but focus on his labored breathing, so similar to my own, the physical pain that surely rivals what I'm feeling right now. I feel a strange kind of kinship at that moment. This is because of Tomura. We've been hurt by the same person.

I can't take away my own pain, but in that moment, I wish I could take away his. My heart thuds into overtime as Tomura pants heavily in my ear, sounding like he's genuinely going to get off on this. The pain returns, reverberating with each beat of my heart.

It's not that overwhelming pain, though, the kind that brings me to my knees. It's sharp, focused, and something inside me twists ineffectually, like the right key put into the right lock but turned in the wrong direction.

Tomura muffles a groan into my shoulder, pounding himself against me. I can't tell if he's coming.

"Home," he mutters and stills, catching his breath. "We'll finish this at home. You're such a good girl, Akito-chan. Just stay still again. These brats are trying to cheat."

He darts away from me and I almost collapse without the support. My back is chilled, refreshingly cold after the heat of our bodies together. It brings me back to myself. Aizawa's breathing is still labored, but slow. He's unconscious. There was nothing I could have done to help him, I know, but it still hurts. Heart heavy, pain overwhelming again instead of pointed, I collapse to my knees, clutching my chest.

I don't cry out and it occurs to me too late that a scream of pain might have distracted Tomura and maybe even changed things for the better in that crucial moment of distraction. Or, more likely, he would have ignored it and 'trusted' me to stay alive until he was back.

And then there's a sudden, deafening crash. The sound is so loud that I can't help but snap to attention. Sharp, menacing footsteps, the figure who's just entered clearly displaying displeasure.

"Never fear," a deep, booming voice calls, echoing off the walls and piercing me straight to my core. A deep agony overcomes me and I clutch myself, nails digging into my arms. "Why?"

Before I even realize it, I choke on a sob, overwhelmed by emotion. I know what he's going to say next.

"Because I am here." The dust clears, and he is. He's _here,_ unsmiling, to save the day.

 _He's here._

The inexplicable comfort of his presence, the knowledge that this man is going to save everyone, even if it's by the skin of his teeth, has me breaking down into inconsolable tears. He's here. He's here, the savior of this world, the Symbol of Peace. He's going to make everything alright again.

Fleetingly, I wonder, _Could he make me alright again, too?_ The thought passes before it can gain any traction.

Through desolate eyes I watch as he whisks Izuku, Tsuyu, Mineta, and Aizawa—everyone—to safety. I see him stand his ground in front of Tomura, ready to take him down.

 _Kill him kill him kill him—_

Of course, with a single word, Nomu is the in the way. There's a horrified silence as All Might's punch does nothing.

I shudder. It doesn't stop, it's not _ending_. I want this to be over. I want All Might to be okay, I want everyone to escape, I want it to be okay—

Oh god.

I do, I want it to be okay. Even if I never will be again. I want this day to end well, without All Might and Aizawa freshly injured and weakened. I want everyone to go home and not have to be afraid as they fall asleep, wondering what next trial Tomura will bring to U.A.

I want it _all_ to be okay. No—I want it to be _better_.

Without realizing it, I start moving forward, getting to my feet, slowly, staggering at first. I start to trot, but it's like looking down on myself from above, dissociation. All Might is preparing to suplex Nomu. My pace picks up, and then, with a hard push to the ground, I vault through the air and slam both in the side, but mostly Nomu. For a moment, I falter, my impact seeming to mean nothing. Then Kurogiri is there, tightening his grip, and Tomura begins to explain their plan to kill All Might.

"Hang in there," I mutter. My voice is lost in the chaos and neither All Might, nor Nomu, have noticed me. I'm on the opposite side of Tomura's sight, for now hidden by two bulky bodies.

I grip Nomu's fingers as they dig into All Might's side. That's where he's injured. He's being hurt and I feel it like it's my own. I try to pry them away uselessly, still crying, still above myself, still watching, and general being a mess, and finally Tomura notices me.

 _You're making this worse,_ I tell myself, but my body doesn't seem to respond, just pulling and prying without effect. _Oh, god, you're going to ruin it. It's going to end badly because of you… because of_ me.

"Akito, what are you doing?" Tomura demands, chill and steely. He takes a step forward.

My body doen't answer him, too busy trying to release Nomu's grip. I watch silently. That's all I can do, all I've ever been able to do—watch.

"Go to safety," I suddenly hear All Might grunt. He looks at me, his face sweating with extertion, fighting at the hands himself. "Young woman, you will be hurt—"

"Shut up," I tell him desperately. "I have to help. I have to help, I have to help, I have to do _something, I have to help—"_ I can feel it in my very soul, that other Akito's desperation, and feel a tug towards her. We feel the same thing.

"Shigaraki Tomura—" Kurogiri starts to protest, but then Bakugou and Kirishima are back in the fray. All Might is released, releases Nomu, and I'm left there on my knees, panting and feeling useless but determined not to be. _You're useless,_ I tell my body. _You're going to get us killed._

My body struggles to my feet and faces down Nomu alongside All Might, small and ineffectual, but I feel it with her—we have to do something.

 _Something, something, I have to do something, I have to help, I have to help, if it's the last thing I do, I have to hel—_

"Nomu," Tomura says coldly, and I'm jolted by his voice, suddenly jarred back into my body like I was never separated. I feel my trembling limbs, the pain in my heart, the inexorable fear. "Bring her here, and don't be gentle."

Nomu lunges, moving through the air so fast I can hardly see him. From my peripheral, I see All Might moving to save me, but, no—that's not right. All Might isn't supposed to be hurt trying to save me.

I hurl myself into Nomu's fist, distantly thinking that Nomus are probably not really built for capturing instead of killing. The fist flays right through me, nearly displacing my entire abdomen.

It hurts. Oh, it hurts like hell, but I think this might actually kill me, and All Might didn't get hurt. Through a daze of reflexive tears and pain, I look down and see parts of myself that I really shouldn't be able to see.

Blood gushes and I realize that I can die like this. In awe of the unintentional but successful suicide attempt, I barely notice as All Might lifts me up to get me to safety, out of the way like I should have been.

I can vaguely hear Tomura shrieking, and Nomu lets out a roaring caw.

"Stay calm," All Might says, taking in the damage as he leans to set me down with Todoroki, Izuku, Bakugou, and Kirishima, if I remember their names correctly. "It will be okay."

It's a lie, meant to comfort. I know it won't be okay as I survey the damage. It's healing, but sluggishly, unnoticeably. This is it. A sense of incomplete peace washes over me, and only one thing is missing.

I cough on blood, and before All Might sets me down I cling to him, wanting that last moment of a strong, comforting embrace before I die. Voices in the background; All Might isn't paying attention to me. My vision is fuzzing, darkening. I feel warm blood gush from my abdomen onto All Might. Well, I didn't mean to turn him into a gorefest, but it's not my problem anymore.

I did it. I'm dying. While it feels selfish to know that it might be at the expense of others' wellbeing, I can't bring myself to care.

Death. It's calling my name, beckoning me with open arms, warm and soft. I've never been so content.

As shock sets in and my pain eases, as death takes me in its embrace, I feel the pain in my chest disappear at long last. The key has been twisted in the right direction this time, and I can't help but feel that it's because of All Might, somehow. The comfort in my dying moments, perhaps, but I feel happy. My lungs heave for breath suddenly, and more blood gushes. It feels… cold, somehow, not warm.

Closing my eyes and accepting my fate, I vaguely hear All Might roar.

In pain.

And that's the last thing I know before death takes me away, a frown on my face as I die.

* * *

 _The story is not over, I promise. Sorry for the cliffy, but All Might's POV is coming next and holy shit but I need to really fine-tune that. Please don't kill me._

 _Again, please let me know if I did alright. I'm fucking terrified. *hides under covers*_

 _P.S. I promise Akito actually did something really good in this chapter, didn't ruin anything, and was not as useless as she appeared. I won't say what good thing she did, but it changes the canon plot significantly. Let me know your predictions, because I'm pretty sure nobody is going to guess it but maybe it's more obvious than I thought!_

 _Canon divergence after this chapter, and then we'll start focusing on healing, then romance. This isn't going to be super plot heavy, sorry if anyone got the wrong idea about it. It should still be fun though!_

 _*goes back to hiding under covers*_


	5. blood and water

_I have no idea how I'm cranking these out so fast. Anyways, I'm speeding through the more specifics scenes I had planned out, so maybe? a little bit of a longer wait now. I still have a few chapters well planned, and the story, I think, will take itself from there._

 _As I said on , I plan for this story to be about 60k words. However, with how freakin' long these chapters are (for me, anyways) it might be a little longer. Still, I don't plan for this to be an epic or anything. (Please, please god, don't make it an epic, I'm already dying from WIPs.)_

 _I hope you all enjoy!_

* * *

All Might recognizes this pain.

It's what he had felt during his fight with All for One, when his stomach and lung had been destroyed. So many surgeries, so much physical therapy, so much seemingly ineffective healing from the most renowned healers in the world. Nothing could fix him, not anymore, and now that he's passed on One for All, he knows his time as the Symbol of Peace is ticking away.

And for all that, he still feels a certain amount of satisfaction. He's served his purpose; he just has to get Young Midoriya through school and all will be… okay. Just like he's always promised.

None of that, however, makes the pain any less blinding. He can't help it; he's briefly brought to his knees at the shock of it, the feel of something cold seeping into his pores. The sensation of cold in itself isn't what's painful, it's the sudden swelling he can feel, pressing against scar tissue and previously-healed sutures tearing open. It's like a tumor but growing at an impossible rate.

He takes a breath and there's a burst of blood from his lips. The pain has spread even to his respiratory system, it seems. All Might breathes deep through the pain, and notices vaguely that it's a deeper, though more agonizing, breath than he's been able to take in five years.

Focusing elsewhere, he sees the young woman he had tried to save on the ground. Her eyes closed and she's still in the way only the dead are. He doesn't see her chest moving, but there was nothing that was going to save her after that brutal attack. It's even sadder that upon further inspection, the wound wasn't nearly as bad as it thought it had been.

"All Might!" Young Midoriya calls. "All Might—"

"I'm alright!" he calls, gripping his seething side for a moment before standing again. "Get to safety!" He doesn't say anything about bringing the corpse. Children shouldn't have to see such things, especially one as damaged as is this one.

He turns to face Nomu, hoping he can hold out through the pain to fight the menace off. His injury hadn't hurt this bad when the beast was digging his fingers into it, but All Might can only assume that the pain is catching up to him. He had thought it unbearable before, but it doesn't matter.

What matters is fixing this mess.

But upon turning back, he finds a bigger mess than himself. The villain who started all this—Shigaraki Tomura—is staring, wide-eyed, at the young woman's body, trembling, no— _quaking_ —in rage.

"You!" Shigaraki screams, high-pitched and shrill. "You killed her!"

The truth is that she had killed herself. She had thrust herself before the deadly fist, arms open as if to embrace the blow with a smile on her teary face. Whatever sacrifice this young woman had thought she was making, it was worth it to her.

She even smiles in her death. Yes, whatever she had sacrificed herself for, she's satisfied with it. There's something tragic yet strangely noble about the notion. Death in self-sacrifice.

All Might can understand that, though her reasons were her own. To some extent, upon becoming a hero, he had expected to die in battle someday. He still might, but not before he uses up every last drop of One for All in his veins.

"Nomu!" Shigaraki shrieks, unhinged like All Might hasn't seen in anyone in a long time. It's not something to be pitied, though; just disturbing. "Kill him! Kill him, kill him, _kill him!"_

Nomu takes this order seriously and lunges. All Might manages to dodge out of the way, a half-second movement aided by a devastating throb in his left side that has him ducking instinctively.

He can't fight like this. He's going to have to push back against the pain somehow, but something tells him that maybe he's going to meet the same fate as the young woman, sacrificing himself to protect the students.

As he steadies himself, finally releasing his grip on his side and mind made up to fight until he breathes no more, until he's dead or victorious, he can't help but glance at where it hurts so badly. It feels too full, tight. Something is there that shouldn't be. At the same time, woman's blood on his shirt is dull and pale, like it's been washed mostly away.

No time to think anymore, Nomu is coming back at him. Making sure to keep himself between the dead woman and the villains, All Might gives it everything he's got. _**Plus Ultra.**_

And he does. He wins, and before their plan can be revised, the villains are forced to retreat, though Shigaraki against his will. He never stopped trying to reach the body, screaming that she was _his_ and to give her back. All Might can only think that if this Shigaraki had a vendetta against him before, it's only worsened. He hasn't seen that raw, wild sort of panic since… for a long time. He wishes he hadn't had to witness it again.

But his time is up. Smoke shrouds his body as he loses grip on his transformation. The pain is bearable now, just a low throbbing as he speaks to Young Midoriya. He's breathing surprisingly easy considering the extent he'd forced himself to. In his prime, it would only have taken five punches, he tells Midoriya. Now, it had taken him over one hundred. It's better than he thought he'd do, honestly. He'd expected something closer to three hundred, emaciated and weak as he is.

And _hungry_. He hasn't been this hungry since before he lost his stomach. His appetite is pretty nonexistent without it and he only eats by medical necessity at this point. Right now, though, he feels like he could take on an entire restaurant and empty their stores. The feeling is almost alien.

He mentions none of the last to his protégé. "You did help," All Might tells him. "Your efforts gave me a crucial moment and I didn't have to reveal myself. You did well. I'm proud of—"

He's cut off by a foreign sensation and an even more foreign noise. A gurgling, the hunger manifested into a sound.

His stomach—a stomach that he hasn't had in five years and isn't supposed to have, now or ever again—growls loudly, protesting its empty state. He actually feels the reverberations. It's _his_ stomach, not anyone else's.

Both master and student don't say anything for a long moment. "All Might…" Midoriya breathes. "Was that—was that—I though you said you didn't have a stomach? It… it wasn't me!"

Keeping his calm and making sure he's smiling, though he feels neither, he says, "Let's go see Recovery Girl."

* * *

I honestly don't know what I expected the afterlife to be like.

I had hoped for a void, a loss of being that would render everything about myself nonexistent, the pain and the fear and the anger. Barring that, I might have expected something healing, like heaven, a solid comfort against the tragedy of my life.

I never expected hell, but it turns out that the religious were right. God, or whoever, doesn't tolerate suicide. At all.

But my punishment isn't that of Dante's Inferno. I'm not a gnarled, dead tree waiting for Harpies to come down and feast on me. Instead, I just feel the agony of the wound I had died from and a hollow emptiness in my soul, like chunks have been bitten off and stolen. Maybe the Harpies have come, after all.

I have a sense of moving around me, jostling me this was and that. Wind, perhaps? And there are distant voices, but I can't make out any of them. Mostly I'm just drunk on pain.

Then I realize that this is what I asked for, apparently. I'm going to feel this way for eternity. Something insides me _burns_ , the agony increasing to a fever pitch, and I scream.

I wake up, still screaming.

I abruptly cut myself off when I see the sunset through a wide window with gauzy curtains, feel the starchy hardness of a stretcher mattress, smell antiseptic permeating the fresh, clean air. I'm in a hospital, or…

No. I look around, taking deep breaths to calm myself. This is familiar. This is… U.A.'s nurse's office.

Before I can do more than blink at the realization, Shuzenji Chiyo, better known as Recovery Girl, is pushing the separation curtains aside and striding in.

"Ah," she says, pleased, "you're up."

I nod mutely. "Um… why am I here?"

Recovery Girl looks at me with soft, compassionate eyes. "You were severely injured when you were brought in," she tells me. "But you never needed to be healed, did you?"

There's no point in lying. "My quirk is regeneration to the point of invulnerability," I say dully. _Maybe even immortality, as long as there's always food._ I don't say this. Because I'm not dead. I'm not even sure I ever was.

She watches me expectantly.

"What?" I ask, shrinking back a bit at her shrewd, piercing gaze.

She relaxes, some tension bleeding out of her as she notices my discomfort. "You don't have to hide your second quirk," she tells me. "It's already out in the open."

I can only stare at her, dumbfounded. "I—I don't have a second quirk?" I ask, because I don't, but if I did, it's not like I had ever tried to find out.

Vaguely I recall the feeling of the key twisting in the lock.

Knowing I can trust this woman, I ask, " _Do_ I have a second quirk that I don't know about?"

Recovery Girl doesn't say anything for a few moments, instead choosing to busy herself by tidying up the room. It's already immaculate, so she's just stalling for time so she can think. I can respect that.

Finally, she sighs. "I think it might be better to just show you. It doesn't matter now anyways." She gives me a smile, something weary and happy at the same time. "There's a few people who would like to meet you now that you're awake. Are you feeling up to visitors?"

No, I don't feel up to that at all.

"Before… before all that, can you tell me what happened? At USJ? The last thing I remember is All Might putting me on the ground and telling me it would be okay." I resist asking about Tomura. Did All Might kill him? Is he locked up? Does he think I'm dead? Am I safe?

Recovery Girl nods and gives me a brief rundown of what had happened. It's mostly in-line with canon, but All Might had been stalled by my appearance, which gave the teachers more time to show up. I can't help but smile; at least I'd done something useful.

"And then All Might was…" She cuts herself off, then scoffs. "I'll let you talk to him about that yourself," she says with fondness that's not aimed at me.

I swallow hard. Her monologue had given me time to muster my courage. "And…Tomura? The villain in charge? Was he…?"

Recovery Girl tsks disapprovingly, apparently misreading my hesitancy and nervousness. "That information has not been disclosed to me," she says snippily.

I force back my tears at immediately being pegged as a villain because of Tomura's need to show me off and his insatiable lust. "No, no—it's not like that. He, um, he…" _raped and tortured me. I wanted nothing to do with him._

But the words stick my throat. It feels like as though if I say it out loud, I can't pretend it didn't happen. Maybe, if none of these people know what went on in that bedroom, I can deny it to myself and not have to live with the pain.

I might not have been able to kill myself, but surely I can make a better attempt once I'm out of here. It can't be _impossible._

Recovery Girl waits patiently.

Before I can curb my tongue, I word-vomit in a rush, "There wouldn't be any evidence, I heal too fast. But he—but he—I never wanted any of this! He just did it, he took it, he—" My throat constricts all of a sudden and I tears form that I have no hope of ignoring. "Don't tell anyone, please?" I beg as understanding dawns in her eyes. Salty drops of water stream down my cheeks. Sometimes, it feels like I'll never stop crying. It's all I seem to be good for.

There's a flash of remorse on Recovery Girl's face, maybe because she had assumed I was complicit before asking me anything. It's gone quickly enough that I don't feel pitied.

"I just—I just want to know if I'm safe," I eventually tell her quietly, wiping futilely at my damp cheeks. "If he's dead. If—if it's over."

She approaches me then and lays a very gentle hand on my shoulder. I can't help it; the unexpected touch has me flinching away. I haven't been touched kindly in… My eyes find a calendar.

I was with Tomura for almost five months. The shock that I've lost nearly half a year of my life to him makes me want to hurl, but Recovery Girl's words interrupt my thought process.

"He got away," she tells me. "But you're safe here at U.A. No one will be able to hurt you here."

I remember the traitor in the school, though I don't recall much more about it other than that there is one. The fact that I don't even know who it is winds me momentarily. I'm not safe here, not if Tomura is still alive.

Then again, he had seen me die. Maybe, if he keeps on thinking that, I _can_ be safe.

"Alright. Um… I'd be willing to see visitors now. But," I grasp her hand as she pulls away, "don't tell anyone. Please."

"It will only help your cause," Recovery Girl says. "There are some who are suspicious of you right now, despite your good deed. It is suspected that it was accidental and not of your own will."

I stare at her with wide eyes. "Are you telling me they want to put me in jail?" I breathe, barely able to comprehend it.

"Some may want to, but a certain someone won't allow it," Recovery Girl says, smiling a small, comforting smile. "Now, let me go fetch your first visitor."

I'm reeling from the conversation—not much of it makes sense to me. Apparently I have a second quirk that made me do an accidental good deed, some people at U.A. want me locked up, and either way I'm still not safe if Tomura thinks I'm alive in any capacity. With the traitor, whoever that is, in the school, it's only a matter of time before I'm spotted.

Despair makes it hard to breathe. Die. I have to die. As soon as possible.

"HELLO! I AM HERE!" bellows a very familiar voice that has my heart jumping into action.

The man himself has arrived with such speed that the curtains blow open all on their own. He stands, tall and proud, his strange forelocks brushing the ceiling. It feels like he fills half the room with just his body, and the whole thing with his presence. Any fear that I had felt before melts away now that he's here.

"Hi, All Might," I say softly. I feel like crying all over again, but this time from sheer relief, the feeling of safety he seems to exude. "Thank you for saving me." Then I'm all out of words.

All Might goes serious at the drop of a hat, and that blue gaze focused entirely on me makes me shiver with something foreign. It's a good kind foreign, though. "No, young woman, it is I who should be thanking _you_."

I nod tentatively. "Recovery Girl said that I did some kind of good deed," I say. "But I have no idea what it was. If I did do something good, it was a happy accident."

All Might grins at me. "Accidental or not, it seems you have greatly lengthened my life span. Now, what I'm about to tell you is confidential. Can I trust you?"

"Yes," I tell him, but I hesitate. Is he so sure that I'm not Tomura's girlfriend or consort? Is he so sure that I won't turn on him?

I won't, ever, but he has no reason to believe that.

If he feels any hesitancy himself, he doesn't show it. "Five years ago, there was a battle that was not televised…"

And so he goes on to tell me about the fight, although he excludes any mention of All for One, and how he lost his stomach and left lung excepting that he had. The surgeries that had debilitated him, the aftereffects; just the hell that he had been through, all the while trying to stay active as the Symbol of Peace.

I nod along, trying to look surprised when I should, but I can't muster much up because I'm really not understanding where he's going with this.

"In short," he concludes, and that wasn't at all short, though necessary to listen to, "I have only been able to keep this form for three hours a day until the USJ incident. Now, please don't be surprised, but…"

There's poof of energy being released, resulting in a smoky cloud, and Yagi Toshinori appears before me.

But he's different.

There's a certain fullness to his face, a show of lean muscle on his arms. He's thin, but not stick-and-bones thin. I wonder if this is the first thing the manga got wrong.

"I have no evidence for you that can prove what you changed," he says. "But you have given me both my stomach and my lung back." And he lifts his shirt to reveal a completely normal abdomen—one even with a little muscle definition.

My heart leaps in my chest.

"I did that…?" I'm stunned, staring at the lack of mangled scar tissue I had expected to see. There's no scarring at all, in fact. It's a flawless, uninjured, completely whole abdomen. "But… how?"

"We—that is, the teachers here at U.A.—believe your blood has immense healing properties," he tells me. "At one point, while I was carrying you, your blood became cold instead of warm and in less than thirty minutes, I had been fully healed from an injury that has greatly inhibited my life for half the last decade. Strangely enough, the blood on my shirt was gone. So, Zen-san, I cannot thank you enough."

"Akito," I blankly correct him. The informality doesn't seem right, for some reason.

He smiles, megawatt and breathtaking. "Akito, then. You may call me Toshinori."

I stare down at the blankets, taking a moment to center my thoughts and focus on the important ones, the ones that aren't crowding my head about how much I want to declare (platonic) love for All Might right now. "Um… Recovery Girl said that some people want me locked up." I close my eyes and take a breath. "That's not going to happen, is it?"

"Of course not!" Toshinori booms, aghast, like I'm telling him the ocean is actually made out of chocolate milk. "You have done me, and Japan, a great service."

"It was an accident," I remind him. "I mean, I would have done it anyway had I known, but…" And then I start to dig my grave deeper. "And—and I was with Tomura, and I promise it wasn't what I wanted, I didn't want to be there, but I'd understand if that was a black mark against me. I'm not—I'm trustworthy, I promise, but you guys don't know that, and—"

"Akito-san," Toshinori interrupts me gently. I immediately shut up.

"You abandoned him to try to help me," he says, and I didn't realize he had really taken note of the way I'd tried to get Nomu off him. Apparently, he did. "That is not what someone loyal to a cause does. We all make mistakes. Even if he was very kind to you at first, some people are adept at trickery and manipulation. What matters is that you did the right thing when the time came, no matter how you felt before. Does that make sense?"

A tear slips down my cheek. "It wasn't like that at all. It was never…" And then I cut myself off, because worse than being sent to jail is admitting just how weak I was to let myself be abused like I had. The image of Toshinori— _All Might_ —cringing back in repulsion if I told him that such a sick being had been _inside_ me, had once even brought me pleasure… well, it would break whatever there was left of me.

Nobody can know. I already wish I hadn't said anything to Recovery Girl.

"It's alright," Toshinori tells me firmly. "The past doesn't matter anymore. You're not going to jail or incarcerated in any way."

"If I'm not going to be in prison, then what are you going to do with me?"

Toshinori nods as though he's been expecting this question. "Well, Principal Nezu is going to want to talk to you about your options, but as I understand it, if everything checks out, you should be free to go after that." He pauses, a dark look coming over his face. "That is, if you feel safe enough to leave. Shigaraki was desperate to get your, ah, body back," he says. "If you want to stay here, under protection, I'm sure the Principal will not object."

A cold feeling of trepidation trickles down my spine. Shigaraki hadn't believed I was dead after all, then. Or if he had, he still wanted my corpse for… something. It doesn't matter, because in the end, I'm still a target.

But staying here only prolongs the inevitable. I'll never escape Tomura as long as I live, whether he's near or far. The damage is too much. I swallow hard. "How much do I weigh?" I ask.

Toshinori's brow wrinkles at that. "That is a question best left to Recovery Girl," Toshinori says, sounding a little confused at the non-sequitur.

It's important, though. If I've lost significant weight, I can probably just find the nearest skyscraper and take a dive. No more Akito, no more Tomura haunting me. I'll be free.

I remember the glimpse of what I can only assume was afterlife that I had seen. That's going to suck, but I'll be okay. Even that hadn't been as bad as even one day in Tomura's 'care.'

"Alright," I say. I have to get out of here as soon as possible. "I can talk to Principal Nezu whenever it's convenient." But, I think to myself, the sooner, the better.

"I'll go let him know," Toshinori says. "And again, thank you, Akito-san."

I can't help the little smile that pinches my cheeks. It feels foreign, like I've never smiled before. "No, thank you."

He nods back and leaves the room with much less fanfare than he had arrived. I lay back on the plastic pillow and close my eyes, trying to prepare as best I can for what I assume is going to be an interrogation.

I think of Nezu's incredible, quirk-enhanced intellect. Does it extend to emotional intelligence? Is he going to be able to read me like a book? Is he going to force me to stay under surveillance if he knows I'm suicidal? I can't let him know.

But I don't know how to do that. I just have to hope and pray to a being that I'm pretty sure doesn't exist, or at least doesn't care about me, that no one notices.

It's about a fifteen minute wait before a large bear-mouse-rat knocks lightly on the wall before peeking his head in. "Ah, Zen-san," he says in a mellow, soothing voice. If my hackles were raised before at the thought of meeting him, they're down now.

When Recovery Girl follows him in, my heart drops. Has she told him? I asked her not to say anything. My hackles rise back up immediately.

But if Nezu knows anything, he doesn't say it. He thanks me for my good deed and offers me a place at U.A. to rest and get my life back in order. Apparently, he had looked me up and found a few minor articles about a woman of my appearance vanishing seemingly into thin air. I had been declared dead, and though it's natural that everyone would assume that, it still steals the air from my lungs. My apartment lease was ended upon declaration of death, has been given to somebody else, my furniture sold off, my bank account put on indefinite hold without a will. I'm told that my former boss, Takamura, had swooped in when no family stepped up and had taken care of everything that had been necessary after I'd disappeared—died.

If only that had been the case.

"So, essentially, I have nowhere to go," I summarize and the offer to let me stay in an apartment on campus until I get my things in order makes sense now.

Nezu nods solemnly. "It's unfortunate, but we have the means to feed and shelter you until you can get back up on your feet. In the meantime, if you wish to fill your time, I'm sure there are some menial positions you can fill. Of course, it's entirely up to you. U.A. is happy to have you after what you've done for All Might."

I nod, though the charity makes me feel guilty because I'll be snubbing it when I kill myself. Still, it's not like they have any real use for me. "Thank you," I hear myself saying distantly. "I'd appreciate it."

That's how I came to live in apartment between Yamada Hizashi and Kayama Nemuri. I last for about three days before I find a particularly tall skyscraper and make the decision to end it all.

Sweet, sweet freedom awaits. Tomura will never hurt me again.

* * *

 _To everyone who has reviewed, faved, and followed, thank you! It's so encouraging to see people enjoying this! I really hope you all continue to like the story! You guys are amazing and I LOVE YOU._

 _Next chapter features another of my favorite characters - you can probably guess who. I'm still trying to figure out the love triangle, or whatever you call it. Polyamory. (Please someone let me know what it's called.)_

 _Have a wonderful New Years, everyone!_


	6. catching broken hearts

_Okay! Sorry for the late update, I've been struggling to come up with the more healing-and-loving parts of the story, and I'm trying to stay one chapter ahead for once. A couple points to address:_

 _-Aizawa might be a little OOC at the end of the chapter. I apologize, and know that I am properly ashamed. But I tried. I really tried, and no matter how I worked it, I couldn't fit it to happen any other way. Sorry! And if he isn't, please let me know, because it's definitely a weight on my mind. In future chapters, it should get better. I haven't seen anyone else work Aizawa with an actively suicidal and hurting rape victim, so I have no point of reference._

 _-I tried to fix the italics thing. I hope it worked. There are a few of them this chapter._

 _-There's a lot of focus on Akito in the next few chapters. This is, after all, her story. I hope it doesn't come off as Mary-Sue ish. Gal's been through a lot._

 _I hope you all enjoy this chapter! This is the dark before the dawn. You'll see what I mean in the next chapter. :)_

* * *

Tomura's not really sure what to do in his Akito's absence.

He's not sure if she's dead or not. She had gained most of her weight back after he had made sure she got enough food, but he'd never expect her to throw herself in the way of that idiot Nomu's punch. He had explicitly said to _capture_ her, to _bring her back_ , not to _fucking kill her._

And she had thrown herself in its way, like she wanted it to kill her! Like she had wanted to die! After every-fucking-thing he had done for her! After everything that they had together, she chose death—why? _Why?_

He had made sure she was so well taken care of, too! He had done everything he could to make her happy, fed her foods that she seemed to like, made sure she went to bed with her desires sated every night, didn't punish her unless she deserved it.

Unfortunately, she had asked for punishment quite often with her misbehavior, but didn't she understand it was for her own good? He _loved_ her. And he had always brought her pleasure after the fact. No, all her needs had been met.

And he thought she had accepted him. She had let him chain her ankle without a fight, obviously not worried about the restraint. It was just for her own safety, he had told her, even though he secretly had done it to make sure she couldn't escape. He knew she didn't want to after the first time; she had never tried again. He had made sure to set the boundary, and while he thinks, in retrospect, that he might have been a little overzealous in his anger and jealousy—wasn't he _enough?_ —she obviously had gotten the message.

Then again, he thinks to himself, she had run from his side at the end. He had seen her with All Might and Nomu. He assumes that she had been trying to be useful or get herself further aroused by helping Nomu cause All Might more pain. He'd never get the answer now.

He had honestly thought she couldn't die, but it seems that Nomu was enough to create an exception to that rule. That had been remedied, though, because even with his master's obvious displeasure, he had made sure to give that Nomu the most painful death possible. No mercy for the one who had killed his beloved.

And _All Might._ Taking her body from him like it wasn't his! He might have been able to find a way to resurrect her with his master's help. Even if she didn't come back quite… _right_ , it would be better than Akito gone altogether.

A quiet whisper in the back of his mind has him wondering if she really _is_ dead. If he shouldn't declare outright war on U.A. and get her back. But that's silly—even if she could withstand his quirk, the damage Nomu had wrought was something not even her healing could fix.

No, she was dead.

He's going to have to find a replacement. Sure, the next one won't last as long as Akito, but he can dye her hair, put in colored contacts, and he'll have her back, even if only for a few days. But if he can keep them coming, he can keep a facsimile of his love with him for a little while longer, just until the grief ends.

And once he's rewrought the world into his image, into a place where he can do whatever he wants at his pleasure… well, maybe he'll search for a more permanent replacement. Someone quirk immune, maybe. All he has to do is make sure he can get the hair dye and contacts. Then it'll be just like Akito never died.

For now, though, he needs to find a woman to take her place for as long as she'll last. He can't just go without his love forever. And he'll send out feelers, see if she's possibly still alive. It feels like a slim chance, so he's not going to wait.

"Kurogiri," he says hoarsely as he enters the bar.

"Yes, Shigaraki Tomura?" Kurogiri says, a little subdued after his leader's breakdown earlier.

"I'm leaving. When I'm back, I want the storage room cleared out."

Kurogiri isn't really good at finer facial expressions, but Tomura can feel the confusion anyways. "For what reason, if I may ask?"

"I'm finding a replacement," Tomura says, not particularly thrilled by the idea but also desperate enough for his love to make do with an imitation.

Of course, he's not going to share his bedroom with her. No, there's no room for it with the new shrine he had built for his true love.

If she's alive, he's sure she'll be happy to see a physical representation of his adoration.

And if she's not… well, he at least needs her body back. Before it decays. U.A. probably still has it. Wishing he had thought of it earlier instead of breaking down, he plucks his phone out of his pocket.

The spy has already proven themselves. He'll just have to see if they can prove themselves again. A tingle runs down his back, the insane notion that his love is alive sending his member twitching. For now, though, he'll find someone else.

So when he leaves the hideout, he makes sure to keep his eyes peeled for anyone who even vaguely resembles his one and only.

* * *

I don't take the elevator.

After three days of hiding the fact that I wasn't eating at all, despite the protesting of my stomach, I'm around five foot four and a little under ninety pounds. I had lost thirty after having my abdomen almost completely ripped out of my body, but nobody at U.A. has any point of reference to know that I lose weight when injured, burning calories to heal wounds, just at a superhuman rate. Recovery Girl had mentioned that I should start eating a high-calorie diet and had given me a free pass for seconds and even thirds at the cafeteria, if I could eat that much. I obviously hadn't listened to her, but the concern had warmed my heart a little.

A fall from a skyscraper is probably something I'd have a hard time healing from at full health. My body as it is and my empty stomach should mean that, upon impact, I shouldn't even start healing. I'll just _splat_ and die.

The thought of the passersby who will likely be traumatized by seeing my broken body make me feel a little guilty, but I push that aside. _They'd understand if they'd been through what I have_ , I tell myself, even as it feels like a selfish rationalization.

But what else I am supposed to do?

I'm winded by the time I reach the top, even having had to pause for intervals on the way up. Forty-three flights of stairs are no joke. Still, the calories I'm burning only help my cause.

My palms are sweaty as I slip under the partition that clearly prohibits access to the roof. If they really didn't want anyone coming up here, they would put a lock on the door or something. A little partition isn't going to stop the determined, and I'm more determined than the average person.

Up this high, the night sky is clear. Gleaming stars in unfamiliar constellations shine down on me and the moon is full. I stare at its beautiful face until, unexpectedly, a disapproving expression seems to superimpose over that bright circle.

"You wouldn't understand anyways," I mutter at it, looking away. Still, that strange feeling of the moon disapproving of my actions makes room for a sliver of doubt to worm its way into my heart.

Ignoring it, I walk up to the railing. There's only the smallest ledge for me to stand on, barely a foot concrete between me and death. I stare at it for a long time—longer than I can justify for being so set on killing myself. I shake my head; where's this hesitation coming from? Tomura's still out there and from what I understood of canon before my transportation, he still wasn't gone even long after I read what I had. I'm barely into the plot at all; really, I'm only at the very beginning. I got lucky with Nomu punching instead of grabbing. I'd be back in captivity if not for that, severely punished and worse off than before.

I can't even fathom it.

I'll never be free as long as I live, I tell myself. There's no point in continuing to live. No one's waiting up for me, no one cares about me personally, no one expects anything from me. Even Principal Nezu was hesitant to assign me to any task that was little more than gardening or janitorial work. I don't have a degree in this world, even if I had in my previous life, so obviously he isn't going to let me go anywhere near teaching. Especially given the circumstances of my rescue—that I was basically stolen away from Tomura under the guise of being dead—no one has any reason to trust me.

"Why?" I whisper desolately, leaning forward on the railing, gazing down at the street below. It's mostly eclipsed by streetlamps at this height, but I can't help but imagine the people who would be walking around at this time of night. There's probably more than a few Pro Heroes around, scouting to stop crimes before they escalate. Various small-time criminals, certainly. Older businessmen and -women heading home after a long day at work. A mother walking with her children to the subway after stopping at the store for a late dinner. Lovebirds on a romantic walk through the streets, going on a date. It's their first one, or it's the one where someone's going to propose.

And here I am, at the top of a skyscraper, living my last moments.

I take a deep breath, but it hitches. "Why?" I whisper again, a lump forming in my throat. Swallowing is difficult and painful. "Why me?"

I dash my hand across my face before tears can do more than form. This is the only way out, I know this. It's been clear all along, but Tomura made it crystal. I never belonged here. My quirk was a curse to keep me in this world, this place I hated. I never liked it here. I've always wanted to go home, and I'd never been thankful for a moment for this place. I'm sure there are people who would have been, but I'm not one of them. I miss home, my friends, my family, my pets… I miss it and would give anything to go back. I _never_ wanted this.

And Tomura was just the nail in the coffin. I could have maybe learned to be happy here, someday, or at least content. But he'd stolen me, stolen everything from me, and now all that's left is to drag this living corpse over the edge of the railing and let it meet its rightful end. I don't know how I still exist after everything that's happened. I'm free, like I always wanted, and I'm dying under the night sky, breathing fresh, icy air, by my own hand.

There's no reason to feel so _empty_ about it.

I only realize I'm crying when a cold wind buffets my face and I feel the tears chill against my face. Oh, well. No one's here to see.

Enough dawdling, I tell myself, and hitch a leg over the railing, then the other. Still, I just sit, staring down over the edge, staring into the abyss—staring into my death.

What awaits me, I wonder. It could be something terrible.

Sniffling, I wipe my face futilely again. "It can't be anything worse than this."

This is different than death by Nomu, I realize. That's why I'm having these stupid doubts. It's not as easy as just throwing myself in the way of a fist, and it's not to protect anybody. Right now, I have time to think, to reconsider.

What if U.A. really could keep me safe?

What if I could find a way to make friends? Would having people who love me make this any easier? What if I could find a way to afford therapy? What if it really was possible for me to heal? What if, with my knowledge about the plot, I could get Tomura defeated, captured, maybe even killed before he ever hurt me again? What if…?

" _No,_ " I say harshly, my anger at the thoughts vocalized. "Do you really want to go through all that?" I ask myself. "You're broken. That's it. You don't even know how to love anymore. You're an empty well, used up and dry. Nothing can fill you up again. Nothing can ever—can ever make this _okay!_ Th-there's n-no going b-b-back! A-all I'm good f-for is—is d-dying—and I c-c-can't ch-change that! I _d-don't want to live!_ _So f-fucking jump!"_ In my tears and broken sobbing, the world narrows to a singular point: the street below.

Don't think. Just jump.

I stand, mind and soul in tatters.

"Hey—!"

I lean forward and let go, closing my eyes as I hurtle to death.

A breath, two, and then I stop, suspended in air. My heart stops, my eyes shoot open, and then I look up. Carbon fiber and strips of alloy hold me aloft. I'd barely dropped three stories. I see a dark-haired man leaning over the railing and realize what's happened.

I can't help the wrenching loss in my voice. I've been foiled again.

" _WHY?!"_

* * *

It's business as usual this evening. Aizawa's already rounded up several villains on his usual route. He's feeling a bit peckish and a lot tired, so he decides to head up to his favorite perch to have a quick snack. He can't stay long as it's not a particularly good vantage point—a little too high to be effective—but he indulges. So far, the night has been slow. Mondays are usually like that, especially cold ones. Nobody likes to be out when it's cold, not even him, though it helps with staying alert.

He reaches the top with little effort. It takes him a moment to make out the shape of someone sitting on the wrong side of the railing, and even then it doesn't click right away. What is this person doing here, interrupting his break? Annoyance flares through him. He doesn't recognize this person as one of his fellow Pro Heroes, but a civilian shouldn't be up here at this time of night. It's prohibited, for one thing. It's _his_ space, for another.

He takes a step forward to reprimand the person, capture weapon ready to catch them if he startles them the wrong way, but then he hears them muttering to themselves. The raw agony in their voice brings him to pause. They're crying.

"Nothing can ever—can ever make this _okay!_ Th-there's n-no going b-b-back! A-all I'm good f-for is—is d-dying—and I c-c-can't ch-change that! I _d-don't want to live!_ _So f-fucking jump!"_

A chill runs through him at the hopelessness, helplessness in the person's voice. He's never heard this unhinged kind of pain, the kind that consumes and consumes until there's nothing left. He's not usually one who deals with jumpers—they leave that to more recognizable heroes, ones who have the disposition to be comforting and soft with emotionally volatile people. He personally doesn't understand the finer points of suicide and this isn't really a job for his style.

But then the civilian is lurching to their feet. Any sort of indecision that he might have been harboring evaporates in a flash and he lunges forward.

"Hey!" he tries to call out, but the person doesn't acknowledge him and in the next second, they've… jumped.

The horror of it leaves him breathless—he's never witnessed a suicide and doesn't think he'll ever be able to forget this—but his capture weapon shoots out, almost of its own accord, and catches the person before they've fallen too far. Logistically, the length they'd fallen and his timeliness in catching them means that there shouldn't be any major damage from the jerking halt.

" _WHY?!"_

The hoarse scream sends chills down his spine. He's never heard this tone before. It makes his stomach twist out of sheer upset that someone could sound so broken.

What has this person been through to make them sound this way?

They start struggling against the scarf-like strips, trying to free themselves. It brings him back to the moment and he wrenches them to safety. For an adult, the person is inexcusably light. No fully-grown human should be so easy to manipulate, and he almost overcorrects the person's course in his expectation of much more resistance.

Finally, he brings the person to safety and is surprised to recognize them—her.

It's Tomura's lover, the one who wasn't actually his lover but his captive, or so Recovery Girl had hinted upon his stern recommendation that she be jailed or at least interrogated. She had healed All Might with her blood. Recovery Girl had recommended that he talk to her and see if she was willing to fix his more permanent damage, what she herself couldn't heal with even her kiss. He had declined; he didn't want anything from someone who could very possibly be on Shigaraki's side. He'd prefer the injuries, thank you very much.

(He knows that's not rational but he can't help but blame her a little for his new handicaps. Having her fix them doesn't mean much when part of him still very much believes that she was a willing accomplice.)

When he lowers her to the ground, a safe distance from the railing, he doesn't release her. She's crying raggedly, but when she looks at him with red-rimmed eyes, he sees a hatred there that outmatches what any villain has ever looked at him with.

"Why?" she demands abruptly, harshy. "Why? _You don't have the right!"_

"Death is never the answer," he says, monotone, not really knowing how to handle this. His thoughts are racing: why would this girl want to kill herself now that she's supposedly free? And, more likely, if she's a willing accomplice to Tomura, she's been given all the freedom she needs to return to him. This is completely illogical. He just… doesn't get it.

"What would _you_ know?" she shrieks, fighting half-heartedly against her restraints. " _You_ wouldn't know _anything!_ "

"I know there's a better way than this," he says, determined to stay calm in the face of a wounded, cornered animal. That's what she brings to mind, the imagery making him feel sick to his stomach. No human should be subject to whatever it is she's experiencing… lover of a villain or not.

"No, you don't! You don't know anything about what I've been through! You'd have jumped a lot faster if you had had the same things done to you!" It's kind of hard to understand her through her wretched tears, but he gets the general gist, and suddenly he feels the creeping, cold suspicion that he's severely misjudged this woman.

"I would never jump," he tells her firmly still. He wouldn't. Nothing is ever bad enough to end it. "I wouldn't give up just because of a few bad things." He knows he sounds unsympathetic, and he kind of is, but he doesn't understand, just like she says. All he knows is that life is never worth giving up on.

The woman stills. Akito—that's her name, he recalls. The expression on her face makes him think she's seeing red at his words, and in retrospect, maybe he should have tried to be a little more empathetic, or at least gentle.

"A few bad things?" she says lowly, and her eyes are wide and crazed and in that moment, she's not just wounded and cornered, but rabid. Her hardened green eyes lock on his, glimmering with tears. "Tell me, Aizawa- _san_ , have you ever been tortured by him? Minutes upon minutes of your flesh decaying and healing and decaying and healing? And it never stops, and he gets off on it. It's enjoyable for him!"

Aizawa assumes she's talking about Shigaraki and he fights the shiver at that description. Of course—she has regenerative healing, so if Shigaraki had wanted to punish her, holding her still with his quirk activated would be agony. He remembers vividly the feeling of his elbow disintegrating, skin falling away completely to reveal raw muscle. And, if what she's saying is true, she had been subjected to that, frequently, but not facing any reprieve because she could heal before it would damage her irrevocably.

He knows immediately that for once, his logical assumptions have failed him. Tremendously. His knees go a little weak at the thought of that pain for more than the few seconds he had experienced. Repeatedly? For minutes?

How was she still sane? That kind of pain is enough to break any mind.

…Maybe she isn't.

Taking the weight off, just to make things easier, he lets himself kneel beside her. She's still talking, he realizes.

"—so he gets his jollies like that, but it isn't enough! Now he's turned on!" She laughs hysterically and sobs at the same time, making her cough and retch for a long moment. "And I'm right there, and he decides that I'm the perfect person to—to—"

Aizawa gets the picture pretty quick and it curdles like milk in his stomach.

"To—" she stops to shriek wretchedly, then, "to _rape_ me. Over and over and over and over and over—" She turns hateful green eyes to him. "And he thinks he loves me! I know it, the moment he finds out I'm alive, he'll hunt me down again! I can't go back! And I can't live with this! So do you _understand_ , now, Aizawa- _san_?" She spits the honorific like venom. "So you can _let me go now!_ If anybody deserves an end to the pain, _I think I fucking qualify!"_

He doesn't do anything for a long moment. This is a human's lowest point, he recognizes. This is the pain of life taken too far, stretched too long, born too heavily. What right does he have to stop her, truly? She has a point.

But his chest twinges in indignation at the thought of letting her give up now, especially now that he knows the truth of what she's been through. She's free now. _She has a chance._ She can make things better for herself. She can only go up from this rock bottom, even if she's terrified of Shigaraki coming after her again.

And he knows, then, inexplicably, in the deepest reaches of his soul, that he never wants to see anyone, but especially not this woman, ever end up here again. He can't stand this pain and it's not even his.

Without even thinking about it, forgetting in that moment his hatred of unnecessary physical contact, that he doesn't particularly like anybody besides his colleagues and even then it's a stretch sometimes, and that nothing he can do will comfort this girl, he pulls her closer to him, releases her from her restraints, and gathers her into his arms.

And then, as though the leaking dam has burst, she shatters into a thousand little pieces against him, sobbing into his chest and clutching him like the only lifeline that has ever existed, and Aizawa feels some of his harder edges soften for her.

"It'll get better," he murmurs into her hair. Warmth flows through him for a reason he can't possibly fathom. For a reason he doesn't understand himself, he adds: "I'll make sure of it."

He doesn't think she hears him over the sounds of her pain, but he's never be more serious. All he knows is that Shigaraki boy is going to die. He won't be allowed to hurt anyone else, not as long as Aizawa is around to stop him.

Then, softly and almost inaudible, it turns out she had heard. "Please, I just want it to stop hurting… I just—j-just want it all to _stop._ " And then, her wishes spoken, and perhaps she thinks he didn't hear her, either, she breaks down again.

She might not even have been talking to him. She might not even realize she was speaking aloud.

Gathering the inconsolable woman into his arms, he starts the trek down from the roof of the skyscraper. He supposes his patrol is over; even though he's the most ill-suited person he can think of for the job, he's needed here, with her.

But the thought of calling someone else in to take over doesn't even occur to him.

* * *

:)


	7. the breaking dawn

_Sorry for the late chapter, guys! Unfortunately, I've been struggling with my own mental illness and related issues. There was also a three week stretch where I played Persona 5 in my every waking moment of free time. I'm free of that now (thank god, I have my life back) although if you like Persona 5, keep an eye out on my "Odd Bits and Ends" compilation on AO3 - there may very well be a Yandere!Akechi/Reader posted there soon. :)_

 _Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. Things are starting to get a little brighter, but we're nowhere near out of the woods. In fact, towards the end I ended channeling a little of my own current angst, so. Yeah. That's there._

 _I hope you all enjoy!_

* * *

When I wake up, I'm lying on a soft bed with a warm comforter tucked snugly around me. I'm on my back, which is not my favored sleeping position, but all I can think as I touch consciousness is that I'm so _comfortable_. If I could wake up like this every day, life would be good.

Then it hits me. I'm supposed to be dead. I had watched the people below, little more than specks in the darkness. I had stepped over the railing and jumped off that roof. What am I doing here? A brief glance around the room proves to me that I'm back at my apartment on U.A.'s campus, which makes exactly zero sense to me.

I jerk up into a sitting position, looking around wildly. How did I get here? Am I a ghost? Is that why I felt so peaceful just a little while ago? Am I going to be forced to stay in the world of the living for all eternity?

A deep breath has me slowing down, trying to force a little more logic into the equation. As far as this world is concerned, I don't think anything beyond quirks can qualify as supernatural, and not in the vampires-demons-werewolves kind of way. That probably rules out ghosts, too. It doesn't, however, give any explanation for why I'm still alive.

The memories come back slowly as my breathing evens out. My sudden halt in the air after jumping, kept from dying by Aizawa. His callous words, bringing me to a frothing rage that had me spewing all of what Tomura had done to me to a complete stranger who has no reason to care. Of some vaguely comforting words from him that I can't remember, but my own response I recall with clarity.

 _I just want it to stop hurting._

And isn't that the truth of it all? Suicide certainly seems like the easiest way to accomplish that, but all I really want is the pain to end. I'm not picky about how it happens, but the faster, the better. With that mindset, killing myself is the most logical thing to do.

I try to remember what Aizawa had said. Something about it getting better. But how long will I have to wait for that? How long can I last with this pain until I see even the slightest improvement?

Stumbling out of bed, the comforter tangling around my legs, I manage to dislodge myself and head toward the kitchen. Some hot tea might be nice, and my stomach is screaming for breakfast. I'm not sure if I'm going to indulge, given that I haven't really given up on suicide, but somehow the hunger is more compelling right now than it has been for the last few days.

My thoughts are brought to a screeching halt as I nearly trip over the yellow lump a few yards outside my room, strategically positioned between my bedroom and the front door.

"Holy shit!" I cry, falling back into the wall in my shock.

There's an aggravated groan from the lump. The voice is somewhat familiar. It takes a moment, but my knowledge of the manga leads me to realize that this yellow lump is Aizawa… in his sleeping bag.

In my apartment.

Why on earth…?

In case I had any doubt, there's the sound of unzipping and a head covered in black hair pops out. Aizawa's dry, bloodshot eyes survey me with some of the same confusion that I'm feeling for a few moments before he seems to settle. Maybe he's remembering what happened last night too. It doesn't explain why he's here, but I'm definitely going to find out.

"Couldn't you have woken up a few hours later?" he asks in a gravelly, tired voice.

I can't help but ignore the inane comment. There are more important things to figure out. "What are you doing here?" I ask dumbly. Of all the people I'd ever expect to be in my apartment—especially uninvited—Aizawa isn't even on the list. The invasion of privacy doesn't register in my shock, and even if it had, there's not exactly a personal touch to this apartment. For the most part, it's a place to lay my head down at night and pass the time during the day.

"Isn't that what you're supposed to do with suicide risks?" he grumbles, pulling himself a little further out of the sleeping bag, blinking against the harsh sunlight filtering through my balcony window. "Stay with them?"

The pieces take a little more time than they should have to coalesce in my mind. I'd never consider Aizawa to be the type to monitor someone who's suicidal. "You're here to keep me from killing myself?" I ask blankly. "Isn't that what mental hospitals are for?"

He gives me a knowing look. "You don't want to go to one of those."

He's right, I don't. But he's missing something pretty important. "You can't just babysit me all day. I could sneak off at any time when you're busy."

"The fact that you just admitted that tells me you're not nearly as suicidal as before." He huffs and forces himself up on his elbows, his lower body still fully ensconced in his sleeping bag. And, I think with some surprise, yeah, that was a stupid thing to say if that was my plan.

I'm embarrassed that I said it now. "I figured you would have already thought of the possibility," I say to cover up my blunder.

He shrugs. "I did, but that doesn't change the fact that you outed yourself voluntarily." I can't help but look away, a blush staining my cheeks.

He pulls his phone out. While he's busy typing away on it, I consider what he said about not being as suicidal as the night before. The truth is that, while I doubt I'm out of the woods, I do feel a little better this morning. The sun, bright through the curtain, and the clear blue skies peeking out, are beautiful. I can hear birds chirping outside my window. It's a nice day.

My stomach chooses that moment to growl ferociously. Aizawa glances up from his phone. "Go eat," he says, looking me over critically. "You need to gain at least forty pounds."

That's going to be a task and a half. However, as though the order has ended some kind of reservation in my mind, I decide that eating isn't such a bad idea. I stand up shakily to head to the kitchen. My body is really weak, especially after climbing all those stairs last night, and it feels like snapping a bone could be as easy as using too much force to chop up the veggies I'm going to put in my omelet.

I get to work right away, but I tire easily. I've never been this skinny before. Without thinking, I put five eggs into the omelet, turn on the rice cooker with two cups of dry rice—more than too much for two people—and chop more veggies than really necessary.

It occurs to me almost too late that Aizawa might want something to eat, but when I turn to him, he's back asleep, his sleeping bag zipped up tight.

It actually makes things easier. More for me.

By the time I'm done cooking, I'm sweating and trembling and it's not from the steam. I am so exhausted I feel like I could pass out. The only thing keeping me awake is the delicious smell of cooking food, and I don't bother to worry about a burnt tongue before I start shoveling food into my mouth. The minor wound heals, though more slowly than usual, I note.

Somehow, some way, I eat everything, including the four cups of rice. My stomach doesn't even feel stuffed, just comfortably full. I take a moment to consider pushing myself back towards my bed, but that seems unfathomable with how tired I am. Without further thought, I push the plate away, lay my head down on my arms, and close my eyes. I don't think I could have moved in that moment if I had wanted to.

I'm asleep the moment my eyes close.

* * *

I come into consciousness slowly, the murmur of voices bringing me into the waking world, hindered by my reluctance to open my eyes.

"We have to help her," says a husky female voice. A better word would be alluring. Her voice sounds like the promise of sex. "But does she want it?"

"She's doing better today, and may be more open to us now. She already said she doesn't want to go to a mental hospital, and I don't think it would help." That sounds a lot like Aizawa. It sounds a lot like people are talking about me while I'm asleep, actually.

"What she needs is support," a hushed voice says. It's a whisper, but it's actually the loudest of them all. If I hadn't been awake before, I would have been after he spoke. "People who care. People who want her around. Friends and family. Where's her family in all this, anyways?"

"Nezu said that there aren't records for anyone she's related to. It's almost like she appeared out thin air," Aizawa says. I can't help but give him points for how accurate he doesn't know he is. "He also says that we should try to support her while she's here."

"I'm always up for new friends!" the whisper-man says.

That's where I have to cut in. My stomach is whirling and I feel sick, and not because I ate too much food for breakfast. The thought of these people, characters from a manga that I had loved, pitying me enough that they would force themselves to be friends with me, is a really bad feeling.

"I appreciate your intentions," I say, opening my eyes and sitting up to look at them, "but I don't want pity friends." Just saying it out loud hurts. I liked these people for themselves—yeah, in a manga, but how was I supposed to know it was real?—and the thought of them lowering themselves to be friendly to me just because I'm damaged pierces deeper than if they were planning to ignore me. Something hardens in me, bitter and cruel, and it leaks out in my voice. "You're right, I don't have anybody. And if you guys try to be my friends, it'll only be because I accidentally healed All Might. I'm living on charity right now. Maybe I just don't _want_ anybody, have you ever thought of that? Maybe you should stop trying to look out for me and just let me die like I want!"

The reactions I get are mixed, but there's one I don't expect. Looking at them, I recognize that Yamada Hizashi and Kayama Nemuri are the other two visitors, which makes sense because the three of them do seem to be friends.

On the one hand, Aizawa doesn't seem at all taken aback by my words, just kind of dully resigned, like he'd expected them. Hizashi, on the other hand, looks like I struck him.

But Nemuri straightens up, affronted, strides straight up to my bedside—how did I get here from the kitchen table?—yanks my hands away from my lap even as I flinch away, and all but forces me to look her in the eye. Her blue eyes are striking against the pale skin and dark hair, and for a moment, all I can see is her.

"We won't do that," she says in a steely voice, almost harsh, "because _you deserve more._ "

I blink once, twice. What? No, I don't. These people have no reason to care about me and I don't need any more charity than has already been thrown at me.

Still, though I'm trying to fight it, her words hit me at my core, forcing all these questions that I had been automatically assuming the answers for to rise up and clamor for a real response. _Do_ I deserve more? Isn't that the crux of it?

Do I deserve healing? Do I deserve love? Do I deserve happiness?

Do I deserve to live?

I feel like I've been punched right in my sternum, winded and out of breath. After all that Tomura's done to me? Raping me, demeaning me, torturing me, keeping me captive? My submission, my attempts to please him, my compliance with his wishes? I had given up on ever escaping him. I had given up and accepted that this would be my fate until I was rescued or managed to kill myself.

Tears flood my eyes against my will and I can only stare up at her. I'm not mad, just hurting, just resigned. "No, I don't." She looks ready to protest and I fight back before she can. "If you knew what—"

"I don't _need_ to know, Zen-san! You are a human being, deserving of love and care and happiness! I don't care what terrible deed you've done, even if you've hurt people—it looks to me like you're the one who's hurting here! And…" Nemuri inhales deeply, as if preparing herself for backlash, and lowers her voice. "I know what rape victims look like, Zen-san."

I look sharply at Aizawa, unable to hide how stricken I am. That was private! He shouldn't be spewing my business everywhere!

Before I can say anything, Nemuri turns back to the two men and orders, "Out! Both of you!" Hizashi high-tails it out of there, but Aizawa lingers to give both of us a look that says he's not done yet, just biding his time. He still leaves after that, and I almost call out to him to rip him a new one about invasion of privacy, but then Nemuri is holding me with her gaze again and lowers herself to the bed.

"Nobody told me anything," she reassures before I can get any angrier. "You can see the signs if you know them. The way you flinch when someone touches you, that hunted look." I can't help but cringe away from her and the way she seems to see straight through any meager defenses I've built. "But it's in the eyes," she goes on quietly. "Rape… it ages people in a way no one else can seem to understand. There's a sort of innocence you can never go back to, no matter how old you are when it happens. It's like an apparition only victims can see."

I'm quaking. My whole body feels like it's going to implode from the strength of my emotions. How does she know that I feel like this? "W-were you raped?" I ask tremulously. She seems to really understand, and although I would never wish my fate on anyone else—except maybe Tomura himself—it gives me comfort to think someone might relate on a personal level.

"No," she replies and I deflate a little, confusion flooding in until she continues, "But one of the reasons I chose to become a Pro Hero was because it happened to a dear friend."

Unable to keep the hope out of my voice, I ask, "Did she recover? Is she okay? Is she happy?"

A sad smile. "Not her. But so many other men and women have recovered and gone on to live happily. You can too, Zen-san. You don't have to live with this pain forever. It might not always be great, or even good, but you can be okay again."

That's my breaking point. I don't need to be praised because I healed All Might. I don't need the kindness of Nezu's charity, though it's been helpful and is the only reason I'm alive right now. What I've needed to hear, ever since Tomura yanked me into his orbit, is this. I can be okay. I can recover. I can be happy and it can _stop hurting._

I break down in tears and tell her everything, from start to finish.

* * *

It's straight out of a horror movie, Nemuri thinks to herself as Akito, through tears, tells her about the fateful day their game shop's usual delivery boy was out sick and she had been forced to come face to face with the leader of the League of Villains. Nemuri has never personally experienced Shigaraki's quirk, but just from listening and talking to Shouta post-battle had made it clear enough that its effects could be classified as torture. When Akito haltingly recalls her kidnapping, the torment she had gone through and then, stammering and sobbing, relaying what had happened afterward, Nemuri can't help but think of Chizuru and her story.

Akito goes on to detail the next five months, the constant sexual assault and the torture and the submission and her rampant self-loathing. Nemuri can see, just in her affect, and hear in her tone, that Akito blames herself for all this. For getting captured in the first place, for not fighting back harder, for not escaping when she had the chance, for her compliance, for failing to beat Tomura at his own game by herself. Nemuri wishes she could tell her that she had to do these things in order to survive and that she had done nothing wrong, but while it's the truth, she knows Akito won't be able to believe her. The self-recrimination is hard to hear, especially in conjunction with its similarity what Chizuru had said when she finally admitted it.

" _If I had just worn pants instead of a skirt…"_

" _If I had just carried pepper spray like my father said…"_

" _If I had just been paying more attention to my surroundings…"_

" _If I had taken another route home…"_

Nemuri had tried so hard to get Chizuru to understand that it was no one's fault but the rapist's, but Chizuru had never been able to really hear it, to really comprehend. When her suicide had come two years later, Nemuri had been heartbroken, devastated, but not really surprised. No one had stepped in to help her friend besides her and it just wasn't enough.

She was not going to let history repeat itself. Come hell or high water, Zen Akito was going to get her happy ending.

* * *

When I finally tell the entire story from start to finish, it feels like a weight has been lifted off me. It's out, all in the open. Someone knows everything—except, of course, my otherworldly origins. It's not important right now and somehow I doubt it'll help my case if I claim to be from another universe. It's not like that information is really relevant to what's going on, anyways.

With a defeated sigh, I slump back down in bed. "Don't… please don't tell anyone," I say hoarsely. "I don't need the whole world to know how pathetic I am."

Nemuri frowns. "You're not pathetic, Zen-san," she says sternly. "You're a survivor. There's no greater feat than that."

I close my eyes and turn my head away. I might feel lighter in some ways, but I also feel incomparably burdened, heavy. That had all really happened to me. It's out in the open, with a witness for good measure: I, Zen Akito, was raped, tortured, and held captive by Shigaraki Tomura. There's no escaping that anymore, no hiding behind any sort of denial.

For a little while, there's silence as Nemuri processes and I wallow in my dark feelings. Then, finally, she says, "Okay. So here's what we're going to do."

Opening my eyes, I look at her and frown. "And what's that, exactly?"

"Well, for one thing, sitting at home by yourself all day is just asking for trouble. It lets the dark thoughts fester and multiply, and you don't need that. So we're going to do something today, something fun and easy. Not too stressful."

I frown. "I can't let him know I'm alive," I say, my heart pounding at the thought of going out in public. I can't tell her about the spy—hell, I hadn't gotten to the point where I even knew who that was, just that he or she existed—so staying locked up in my room feels like my best bet for staying safe. "And… I'm not up for just traipsing around. My body is, um… pretty weak."

"Oh, don't worry about that," Nemuri says with a reassuring smile. "First order is to fatten you up, but I meant something closer to playing cards, or taking a slow walk around campus—just getting you used to normal life."

"I don't mean to be a downer, but I don't have a normal life." I haven't had one since Tomura.

"And that's why we're going to start introducing you to one. Once you can get used to that, we can talk to Principal Nezu and see about getting you some kind of steady work on campus." She pauses. "Until the entire League of Villains is behind bars, I think you're going to be restricted to UA for your own safety. I'm sorry."

I shake my head fervently. "That's honestly fine with me. Anything is better than going back there. But…" I swallow hard. Admitting this feels like pulling teeth, even though it should feel like a positive thing. "I guess that—well, I… I want that normal life. I don't think I know what that looks like yet, but I think I want it." If it doesn't work out, it's not like suicide is suddenly not an option anymore.

For some reason, admitting that makes me feel more vulnerable than when I had told my story. I want to get better. Through sheer luck—I don't believe in providence, not after Tomura—I have been introduced to someone who's not only willing to help me but also knows how. That alone makes me want to be stronger, to not give in to death.

Nemuri's eyes soften, but it's not out of pity. I can see compassion swirling there, and even… admiration? But there's nothing to admire about my resolution. I'm only going to be functioning like a normal adult. There's nothing special about that—it's the baseline of what I should be capable of, Tomura or not. So there's really nothing to be proud of here.

 _You can be okay again._

I might never be good, or great, but if I can be okay—if I can be an average, normal person, with average, normal problems and nothing else, well… that's almost more than I can ask.

But as much as I feel like it's the lowest rung on the ladder of what I should be able to manage, it feels like I'm going to have to climb Mount Everest to reach even that.

As if sensing what I'm feeling, Nemuri changes the subject. "Now, what do you know about cards?"

"Not a lot," I admit a little sheepishly.

"First things first, then!" She turns to the door and shouts, "Boys, get out the cards! We're teaching Zen-san poker!"

* * *

 _So, I have a little poll: It's well known that survivors often have PTSD nightmares/night terrors. Akito has one coming up (not telling when!) and so far, it's pretty dark. I'm asking for your opinions - should it be graphic? Would you prefer I skip over the finer details? Right now it's leaning more towards graphic because it's going to have a substantial effect on her recovery (not telling which way, but don't automatically assume it's going to be a set back!) but I also want to keep the non-consensual encounters to a minimum because while they're a large part of the story, I don't want them to be a defining factor._

 _Anyways, comments with what you think will be helpful! This isn't a majority vote type of thing, but it'd be great if I could get your thoughts on it!_

 _Cheers!_  
 _OHL_


	8. sun-warm

"You've gained five pounds since last week," Recovery Girl says with a hint of pride. "It's good progress. With your quirk, I want your BMI around 25—if you're injured, you'll need the extra fat."

Nemuri smiles at me blindingly, her pride quite a bit more obvious than Chiyo's. "I'm so proud of you, Akito-chan!"

I still flinch a little every time she calls me by my first name. Even though her voice is completely different than Tomura's, no one has called me that since I've been here except him. I'm not native to Japan, but I've lived here long enough before my capture to at least recognize the over-familiarity and violation of him referring to me so personally. Nemuri has earned it, though. When someone knows your darkest secrets, it tends to speed up the bonding process.

Also, Nemuri has been here every step of the way since that day after my suicide attempt. I owe her so much… Well, it's no exaggeration to say that despite only knowing her for a week and a half, I would happily take a bullet for her.

She'd be super pissed if that happened, though, so I don't mention that I would be, if not eager, very satisfied to give my life for her.

(I'm still suicidal. Just not actively.)

"So," Nemuri says, turning to Recovery Girl, "Do you think she can start doing a little more activity?"

"Not much," Recovery Girl replies sternly. "You can walk around campus now, though, if you want. But I'd prefer if you stayed on bed rest until you're a little stronger."

"That's fine," I tell her. "It's not like I'm frothing at the bit to lose all the weight I've gained." Reaching the target calorie count Recovery Girl has recommended is actually a challenge. She wants me eating six thousand calories a day: two-thousand for just existing and four thousand extraneous. It takes thirty-five hundred unused calories to gain a pound, so by all rights I just be putting on weight like a champ, but it's almost like my body is resisting it.

Or maybe it's because it's really fucking hard to consume that many calories and not have it all be junk food. It's not like I'm hungry enough to appreciate being allowed to eat anything and everything that I want—in fact, eating is often a chore. For all my determination to at least attempt to live 'normally'—whatever that means—there's still damage.

A lot of damage.

With a few parting words, Nemuri leads me out of the nurse's office and down to the first floor. "There's a lot to do around here," she tells me. "Is there anything in particular you'd like to see first?"

A thought occurs to me. "Is Class 1-A doing anything interesting today?" I ask. "I promise I won't interrupt, but I'd like to check in on them after the whole USJ incident. Make sure they're okay."

Nemuri squeals and turns to pinch my cheeks. Unfortunately for her, there's not a lot to pinch—my cheeks have filled out only a very little, and I'm still gaunt. "You're so cute!" she says excitedly. "They should be with All Might doing some hero training. If you want, we can join in the observation."

I hesitate a little at the thought of seeing All Might. Has anyone told him what I've been through? Even though he doesn't know Tomura's true identity right now, I know he finds out eventually. It would break his heart to find out that his mentor's grandchild is a villain, and not just a run-of-the-mill petty criminal, but a murderer, the leader of the soon-to-be notorious League of Villains—and a rapist, which is almost worse than any of that. And with the way he reacted to me, he can't be anything other than insane. On top of that, I absolutely never want All Might to find out what I've been through. Just the thought of his disdain at knowing my weakness, my dirtiness, makes me feel ill.

I don't really know why I feel like that. If he, or anyone, holds my torment against me, it's their problem and a reflection of _their_ character, not mine. Or so Nemuri has told me.

Still, I feel like I can take judgment from others. Just not All Might.

Overall, it's for the best that All Might and I keep our distances. For both of us—the more I consider it, the more I think it'll be better if All Might doesn't get to know me beyond cursory victim in his periphery. Finding out the truth about Tomura is going to be hard enough, but if All Might ever learns what Tomura put me through—it wouldn't even be about me in particular, but that Tomura had done it to _anyone_ , the beloved grandson of his mentor—well… I don't think anyone deserves that.

Especially not All Might.

"Well," I hesitate. "I wouldn't want to be a bother. We can just—"

"Oh, no. Did you just imply that your presence is a burden? Because that doesn't sound like someone who values themselves." Nemuri raises an eyebrow at me.

I glare at her. "Okay, first, you _know_ I don't value myself. So don't give me that."

"You have to act your way into right thinking, Akito-chan, you _know_ that," she teases, but I can hear the underlying seriousness in her tone.

"I know," I say. My stomach knots at the thought of facing All Might, though. "Can I maybe…" I pause, unable to say it right now. "Can I just hang out with you? Or maybe Aizawa-san?" I liked Present Mic when I met him, too, but he has a lot of energy and even though I can appreciate his cheeriness and hype, my emotional state doesn't really connect with his. It was fine in the group watching the three friends bantering and having fun, but I don't think I'd do well with him one-on-one. I've seen both Aizawa and Yamada around during the week, with Aizawa especially going out of his way to make sure I'm taking care of myself when Nemuri isn't present, and whenever I see Yamada, it starts well before turning downright awkward. It's not that I dislike him. He's just a little… much, right now.

"Nope! You're going to go see All Might and Class 1-A. I'm sure they'll be happy to see you again after what you've done for them."

"I didn't really do anything for _them_ …" I mutter. I refuse to take credit for something I had nothing to do with.

"Well…" Nemuri links her arm through mine and starts to lead me toward Ground Beta. "You'll see. I think you have at least one admirer."

Midoriya Izuku. Of course.

I don't know how to feel about meeting the protagonist of the series I'm currently living in. It's one thing to see and like him on a screen, but in real life? Who knows how he'll really react to me? What if he doesn't like me personally, despite helping All Might? It was an accident, after all. I'm no hero like him.

I think that if he doesn't like me for any of the multitude of reasons he shouldn't, my heart will break, just like if All Might discovers what Tomura did to me.

"I don't think this is a good idea," I protest, but one of the things about being malnourished and weak is that I have no way to break free of Nemuri. She's strong, strong enough to be a Pro Hero, and I'm not really anything more than skin and bones.

"Too bad. Let's go!"

We reach Ground Beta and Nemuri leads me up to the observation room. It looks like it's the battle trial just before Izuku and Bakugou's fight.

"Hey, All Might! You mind us visiting?" Nemuri greets cheerfully.

The huge man—and wow, he really _is_ huge, larger than life in stature as well as in heart, I'd noticed it before but this isn't a dangerous situation like it was last time—turns and grins widely.

"Midnight! Good to see you!" he greets. Then his eyes meet mine and I feel my cheeks grow warm. "And Akito-san! Are you here to watch the trials?"

"Sorry, not me this time. But I was wondering if Akito could hang around for a little while? It's a recovery thing."

"Of course!"

Suddenly, all eyes shift from Nemuri to me. I shrink back, crossing my arms and hunching over a little as I cower beneath the gaze of all these strong characters that I liked so much Before. Now they're seeing _me,_ this broken, pathetic mess before them, and I'm mortified.

I see Todoroki Shouto's keen, appraising gaze. Bakugou glances at me, huffs, and turns away dismissively, seeing my weakness. I shouldn't have expected anything else, but it still hurts. Momo looks at me with concern, the kindness in her eyes making me feel small, unworthy. Tsuyu and Kirishima wave, Tokoyami, Oshiro, Sero, and Sato nods, Denki and Mina grin, Denki and Mineta leer in a way that makes me feel nauseated despite the harmlessness. In one way or another, everyone takes stock of me, and I can't help but think that they all find me lacking.

With the exception of three.

"Oh gosh, it's you! Zen-san!" Ochako exclaims, darting forward with arms outstretched like she wants to hug me. "Hi! Nice to meet you! Deku told me all about you!"

God, what does Izuku even know that he could share with her? I don't even want to think about it. Would any of the adults I've interacted with since I got here have told him any of the dirty details?

I go bright, devastating red. I'm absolutely humiliated.

"You're the healer, right?" Iida says, stepping forward. He bows politely. "My name is Iida Tenya. It's good to meet you. I'm glad you're safe now."

That sends a few murmurs throughout the rest of the class. My eyes find the ground and refuse to leave it. How do they know so much about me? And whatever they do know, why are the deigning to talk to me? I'm nothing compared to them.

I hesitate for a long, awkward moment until Nemuri nudges me. "Um… yes. That's me." I pry my eyes from the ground and look up at Class 1-A as a whole. "U-uh, my name is Zen Akito. Thank you for having me."

"It's so great to meet you!" Ochako says, introducing herself.

"Everyone, Akito-san has done me a great favor. Why don't you all introduce yourselves?"

I'm overwhelmed as the class goes around saying their names and suddenly thanking me for a 'favor' I did through no fault of my own. All the attention is making me breathe heavily and I don't know what to do. My chest is tight and it doesn't feel like I can catch my breath. My eyes reattach to the ground and don't leave it.

And there's Izuku's reverent gaze from my peripheral vision that I can feel like lasers on my back, the heat enough to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

"Alright, everyone, let's refocus on your classmate's trials!" All Might booms, interrupting Ochako's and now Momo and Mina's attempts to speak to me.

What is wrong with these people? Why are they even deigning to look at me, much less speaking to me like I'm somehow their worthy of their attention, like I've done something right?

Once everyone's attention is focused back on the screen and Momo has been instructed to guide the conversation, All Might approaches me. "How are you doing, Akito-san? I hear your recovery is going well."

If he knows anything about my suicide attempt, he doesn't indicate it. That's a relief; I don't want any of the kids to know that about me. When I die—okay, if, because Nemuri would scold me if I ever said anything like that—I want it to be a quiet affair, out of the spotlight. I don't want anyone to know, really.

Just go missing. Anyone who cared, like Nemuri or Aizawa, would know what I'd done. But they're not the kind of people to go spreading it around. I'll— _I'd_ —pass in anonymity, a unknown passing through the world in the space of a few years, unwilling, unnoticed, unfitting for this world.

"Uh, yeah. I guess so," I say, a little more confident in tone than I expected to.

Something about All Might makes me loosen my crossed arms and stand a little taller, my shoulders unhunching. There's a warmth in my chest when I hear his voice him. I feel safe, and a small piece of me feels like it'd be okay if I stick around in this life for a little while longer. It doesn't make any sense and I don't understand it, but that's how I feel.

I feel so many things that I don't understand anymore. Maybe I never understood them.

"Oh, don't undersell yourself," Nemuri scolds. I swear, she's almost like a mom. Not _my_ mother, but she has the same mother-hen tendencies around me that remind me of some kind of matron. "Akito-chan has gained five whole pounds in the last week!"

All Might brightens. "That's great, Akito-san! That must have been hard. I'm proud of you!"

My cheeks pinch uncomfortably and they heat like bonfires, somehow an even brighter red. It takes me a minute, but I realize I'm smiling widely. Wider than I have since waking up in this world, if the way my cheeks ache is any indication.

"Thank you," I say meekly. "I'm going to keep working hard. Plus Ultra, right?"

"Yes! Exactly!" he says, his deep, booming voice caressing me like a safety blanket. "Plus Ultra!"

My cheeks are starting to really hurt, and I'm basking the glow of being in his presence. Being here, standing in front of him, talking to him—the great All Might praising me? My savior praising _me?_ —makes me feel like I've stepped out from under a great, looming shadow and into the sunlight.

"Plus Ultra!" Nemuri repeats, giving a victory sign. I duck my head, less embarrassed now. Everything will be okay if All Might says it is.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go back to teaching," All Might says. "It was nice to see you, Akito-san. Keep working hard! Ganbatte!"

I bow. It just feels right. "Thank you very much, I will."

All Might returns to Class 1-A, taking back over from Momo, and I turn to Nemuri. The class has moved on. "Can you take me back? I think that's enough for today. I'm exhausted."

Nemuri nods and she's beaming. "Sure, let's head back. You've done a lot. I'm proud of you, too. Being around so many people and managing it was really good, Akito-chan."

I only respond once we're out of sight, arms crossed protectively against the world. "I don't know…" I say quietly. "I feel like I've hit my limit for the week. I just want to curl up and be alone, maybe read a book or play a video game."

"It's okay," she soothes. "This was a lot, and quite frankly I didn't think it through too well. I'm sorry if I've overwhelmed you."

I decide to actually figure out how I feel before telling her if it was a mistake or not. I feel the trembling in my hands, the tension in my curled shoulders, the tightness of my arms around my body.

I feel the warmth of All Might's words. _"I'm proud of you."_

"No, in the end I think it worked out alright," I tell her. It's the truth, a truth I feel deep in my bones. "Actually, um, this might sound kind of weird, but I feel kind of like I accomplished something here? I don't know why."

She turns to me not with a wide grin but a small, kind smile. "You did accomplish something. Think about it—you haven't been around more than one or two people at a time for a while, right? And you just managed to be around two dozen people. That's huge, Akito-chan."

I scoff, but don't really mean it. "Yeah, for like two minutes."

"It's something!" Nemuri insists. "It's so much more than you know. You'll look back on this moment someday and really see how big of a deal it is. Do you know how many people in your situation can't manage to leave the house? They're too scared to face the outside world, with _reason_ for that fear."

"I wouldn't have done any of this if it hadn't been for you, Aizawa-san, and Yamada-san."

What I really mean is that I would be dead or dying.

"That's why support, having friends, is so important. You need others to love you even when you don't love yourself."

A sudden, silly urge overtakes me. "Are you saying you love me, Nemuri-san? Why, I'm flattered."

Nemuri leans in suggestively, lips parted tantalizingly. Mineta would be knocked out from bloodlust if he could see the look on her face. "Of course I love you, anata. I don't know what I'd do without you…"

I can't help but laugh. "Okay, okay, I'm good," I say, pushing her away by the face. She laughs along with me.

"Don't play with fire," she teases with a wink. "You don't want to get burned."

I want to tease her back, get into some of the banter I'd seen between her, Aizawa, and Yamada, but I don't have the energy left. Still, I've noticed something.

"You doing that, you know, leaning in like that… it didn't make me uncomfortable. Do you know why?"

Nemuri turns thoughtful. The apartment complex is in my sights and I'm looking to curling up in bed and basking in the dark and silence. "Maybe it's because I'm a woman, too. Sometimes gender matters with this kind of thing."

I nod in understanding, too weary to say anything more.

Nemuri walks me all the way up to my apartment and leaves me on the door, telling me she'll see about finding some of her old favorite books and lending them to me. I'm more grateful than I can say. I really am exhausted; being around so many people had sent me into a state of high anxiety. Talking to All Might, hearing his words of praise, wrapped me in a cloak of comfort, though, so I don't break down the moment I'm alone. I had kind of expected to.

Part of me feels like it's glowing in the darkness of my apartment. All Might really is the best. He's the perfect person, I'm convinced. He told me that he was proud of my progress. Part of me can't help but want to listen to him. If he says I can do it, then can't I?

I know the glow will fade. It can only be temporary. But maybe it's something I can think back on when things get hard, to try to hold on. A smaller but no less vocal part of me wants to impress All Might, show him I can be strong, even though I'm actually weak. Weak people can be strong sometimes too, right?

All Might is my ideal. I hope I can one day stand in front of him and have some of the same pride for myself he had for me today.

It occurs I might have the smallest kind of crush on him, and that's extremely humiliating—why would he ever look my direction? And how can I even dare to think I'm deserving of anything like his _affections_?—but sometimes, something as silly as a crush can be a reason to hold on.

As the glow wears off and I start drifting to sleep, sinking into the silence of isolations and hopefully without too many nightmares of Tomura, hopefully completely dreamless, I think that I'll need all the help I can get to stay in this world anything like long-term.

I won't suppress it. If a crush on All Might gets me to hold on long enough to heal a little, to let my newfound friends help me get through this…

Maybe, just maybe, I can experience something like a normal life.

(It's something I want.)

(It's something that could… possibly actually happen?)


End file.
